


Wake Up

by HiatusMusings



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 03, Canon Universe, F/M, Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-10-18 12:10:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 68,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17580572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiatusMusings/pseuds/HiatusMusings
Summary: When Clarke stays in Arkadia after crushing the mountain she thinks she can still hide from those that looked to her. But when Azgeda puts a bounty on Wanheda's head, Bellamy and the 100 must band together to keep war from their doorstep, and Clarke's head on her shoulders.





	1. Chapter 1

Clark was used to getting some rude awakenings. Waking up in a drop ship as it careened down to the Earth being near the top. A close second was coming to in Mount Weather after enacting a plan to burn 300 people. But regaining consciousness because Jasper Jordan’s hands were clasped around her neck, his teeth bared and his eyes a chilling blank had to be right near the top of bad ways to start one’s day. 

Her oxygen-starved brain finally kicked on, the survival instinct that had ended so many others flared to life as she started kicking and clawing at the boy’s face. A face she had once smiled at, laughed at, a face accompanied by a person she had willed and worked frantically to save after his chest had been speared in their first few moments on the ground.

Perhaps she shouldn’t have worked so hard. 

Black spots filtered into her vision as she finally shifted her legs under him, kicking up into his groin. 

“Ugh,” Jasper’s grip slackened, his mouth dropping open in a pitiful face.

It was enough time for Clark to shove him off of her, her breath ragged as she sucked in air in great gasps, tears springing to her eyes at the sharp pain in her lungs as they expanded. 

She propped herself up in the pool of spilled, sticky moonshine. For a moment she sat there, adrenaline coursing through her as the previous evening came back to her. She had come into the makeshift bar in the early hours of the morning, the nightmares driving her from whatever corner of the downed ship she’d curled up in.

She could hear yelling and feet pounding on the metal grates to where they lay. Jasper was flat on his back now, looking up at the ceiling, as tears tracked down his cheeks. Her heart wrenched a little in a way that had nothing to do with the pain in her neck.

“I’m sorry, Jasper,” she said, her voice cracking around the syllables. 

“For killing Maya?” he replied, his words slurred at the ends.

“You know I am. You know that.” she said

“Whatever Clark,” Jasper said, rolling onto his side, and getting to his feet. He didn’t walk far, just slide back onto one of the bar stools still upright after he had dragged her off of hers. He poured himself another drink, assuming the position she saw him in more than any other since the mountain. 

“Jasper,” she rasped out, she was surprised at herself, she would have slunk away by now.

“Go float yourself, Clarke,” Jasper said cutting her off. 

Clark let the wound settle on her, holding it tight and comparing it against all the other hurts. She didn’t get very far because Bellamy Blake had stomped into the bar, scanning around, looking for someone to yell at. She could see the confusion on his face, Clarke half propped up on the sticky bar floor. Face likely pale and red blooming on her neck. Jasper hunched over in a chair staring into his cup, his expression vacant as her own frantic hands had torn scratches along the skin of his freshly shorn hair. 

Clark froze, when was the last time she’d seen him? Her mind raced over muddled thoughts and swiftly gave up. Instead, she stayed silent, sitting up and moving forward to start picking up the strewn papers that had floated around the floor. 

“Hey, he said, walking over warily, his large hands reached down to help her up. His eyes took in her throat, the tear tracks down her face. “Everything okay?” He asked, his expression darkening as his hand came up to track the marks on her neck, then looking over to Jasper’s overly still form. 

“Nightmare,” she said, stepping back to prevent his fingers from touching the skin. They hadn’t been this close in a long time, she’d made sure of it. Bellamy sighed and took a few steps back of his own. She breathed a sigh of relief, then regretted it as her lungs protested. 

She didn’t want to look at Bellamy. She didn’t want to see the concern in his eyes as he took in her disheveled appearance. Even though she hadn’t left the electrified gates of Arkadia since everything at Mount Weather, she’d done a pretty good job of making herself scarce. It was safe to say he hadn’t seen her this close up in weeks. 

So instead she looked up to watch the weak sunlight filtering in, slivers of clear blue. She quickly calculated the time, she had come in right before sunrise, a good few hours of sleep then. Better than she’d had in a while. 

“Clarke?” Bellamy started, looking like he had a speech prepared. 

“What?” She asked, bracing herself for an accusation, or worse, something nice.

Bellamy seemed to search her face, but in the end seemed to think better of what he had wanted to say, “Abby’s looking for you. I was heading to Raven’s to ask if she had seen you when I heard,” he trailed off. 

“Ah, well. I better go,” Clarke said, stepping to her side to move past him. 

“Fine, but,” Bellamy said, lightly laying his hand on her arm as she walked by stilling her, “can we talk later?” 

“Yeah,” she said, “I’ll find you.” Clarke ignored the frown the crossed his face as she turned her back headed out of the bar. She wouldn’t go looking for anyone. She never did. 

***

Clarke walked into Arkadia’s med bay, turning up the collar to her old, refurbished guard’s jacket, now lined with fox fur for the cold winter ahead. It wouldn’t do for Abby’s worried eyes to linger over yet another unexplained injury. 

Her mother could be found in front of a large chalkboard that had been salvaged from the school rooms of the ark. A series of lists detailing the amounts of bandages, antibiotics, suture kits, and fluid lines swam in front of her. Chalkdust floated in motes of light from the open bay doors.

For a moment Clark was transported back to her childhood on the Ark, watching her mother study for an upcoming surgery or finalize a submission to the council on behalf of the medical team. This was how she and her mother were most alike, solving problems took thought, and unbiased planning. 

Unfortunately, Clark had Jake’s streak of applying problem-solving in a sudden wide-sweeping scope. It was working out for her about as well as it had for him.

“Mom?” Clark said, almost hating to disturb the memory.

“Clarke, where have you been?” Abby asked, not turning around to face her daughter. 

Clarke walked over to stand next to her. To not fully focus on her daughter after months of intently gauging how traumatized she was on any given day must mean that Abby was concerned about a larger problem than her child. 

What a nice change of pace for her Clarke thought.

“Couldn’t sleep, went to the bar to work on the herb engravings,” she said. Abby was all too familiar with the screams her daughter woke to every night.

“Well, I guess I’m glad you found a place where someone could easily find you then,” she said, her voice tense. 

Clarke had nothing to say in response to that, so she let her gaze drift around the room, landing on a large piece of parchment. Grounder-made paper stood out amid the linen paper the ark had laying around. 

“What’s that?” Clark asked, trepidation creeping into her bones, she had stayed firmly put behind the fences, and anything connected to Grounder made her palms itch.

“We’ve gotten a message from Polis,” Abby said.

Clarke swallowed back the bile that had risen in her throat, “what could that possibly have to do with me?” She asked. 

Abby looked at her nervously, “A retinue came from Polis, on behalf of the Commander. There’s a peace summit occurring between the clans of her coalition. She’s requested that you represent Arkadia at it.”

Clarke stared at her in silence. 

“Yes, that’s about how I reacted as well,” Abby said. Placing the parchment back on the desk. “However, Marcus believes we should at least entertain the idea, for diplomacy's sake, trade routes and such.”

“Well, Kane can fuck right off,” Clarke said dryly. “I have a very firm memory of what happened the last time I trusted Le...the Commander,” she finished, not wanting to say her name. She didn’t want to say much of anything. Hitting someone vaguely Kane shaped seemed like a much better idea. 

“Clarke, I think there are innumerable reasons for you to walk out of this room and forget about the message entirely,” Abby said, leaning forward towards her daughter. “I think you are completely in your right to be angry about being asked to talk with someone that has turned you into…” Abby drifted off.

These were uncharted territories. There was an unspoken agreement between mother and daughter that they did not talk about how Clarke didn’t sleep. About the weight loss, the ragged hair that hung about her waist now, the eyes that never stopped moving, the fact that she could disappear for days on end without even leaving the fence line. 

But still, it hurt to have it pointed out by the person she thought was on her side. Were they not all suppose to pretend together?

“You’re right Mom,” she said. Turning around to walk about of the room. “I am totally within my right to ignore this. Just like she ignored us at Mount Weather, turning me into a monster,” Clarke said and reached for the door handle.

“Clarke?” Abby said, “I’m sorry, please don’t go.” 

“That’s the problem Mom,” Clarke said, twisting the handle down and letting the cacophony of the med bay machinations seep into the room, “I stayed.” 

She was walking down the corridor when Abby’s voice reached out to her as she stepped into the hall, “so is that your response?” 

“If it’s important she’ll send another and if it’s really important she’ll send an army.” Clarke threw back over her shoulder. She walked quickly into the hallway, taking random turns as the panic threatened to catch her. It’d been a rough morning. 

Time to find a mechanic.

Raven was sitting at her workbench as Clarke walked in. Scrap bits of metal, gears, and data chips were strewn around her as she peered intently through a magnifying glass. A bit of soldering smoke drifted around her dark ponytail. 

“Clarke,” Raven said by way of greeting.

“Raven,” she replied passing her and climbing up to the lofted area of her work station. She kept a thinly padded mattress up here, hidden behind old barrels that used to hold fuel, and now held the remnants of whatever Raven was keeping from the council so they didn’t requisition it for a use that would be much less fun than whatever she had planned. 

“Same playlist as yesterday?” Raven asked, reaching over to grab one of the old, pre-war music cards. It was similar to Maya’s old card, but Jasper had that firmly secured around his neck at all times.

“Let’s try something a little...angrier,” Clarke said, shifting down to lay flat on the mat, bunching her coat up under her head. The cool air felt good on the increasingly sore abrasions on her neck. 

“I heard about the summons,” Raven said scrolling down the card. Her clear voice carried no hint as to what she thought Clarke should do about it.

“I think I asked for angrier,” Clarke said replied.

“Coward.” Raven said.

“See Wick lately?” Clarke replied.

Raven hit play. 

The heavy bass and screeching filled her skin, rattling the loose screws on the floor beside her. She imagined the music boring into the few screws she had loose in her own head. After a few minutes sleep claimed her, the fires raging just behind it. 

***

She wasn’t always sure what she had dreamed, just that she woke up screaming. That’s why she crawled into this little space, why Raven raised the volume up so high that the rest of Arkadia just thought it was another one of the young mechanic's slightly less endearing quirks. The yell ripped from her throat but thanks to Jasper’s earlier greeting, it was accompanied by pain as well. 

She was soaked in sweat, and for some reason, her hands were covered in blood. No, wait. She blinked a few times. Not blood, grease. She always forgot how dirty it was up here. She hadn’t looked in a mirror in while. 

The music lowered in tempo and Clarke looked down through the bars of the railing, her chest still heaving. Raven’s eyes were narrowed.

“You’re not getting better,” she said.

“You’re not wrong,” Clarke said. Swinging her feet over the edge. “How long was I out?”

“Almost an hour, Clarke…” Raven began.

“Don’t, please. I don’t need a lecture.” Clarke replied.

“I wasn’t going to,” Raven hissed, “just wanted you to know another letter came.” 

Clarke stilled, “and?” She asked. 

“They aren’t leaving the gate until you go out there. The guard’s getting nervous,” Raven said.

“In other words, Murphy’s on duty,” Clarke said to Raven's raised eyebrows.

“Shit.” they said in unison, Clarke crawling down and keeping pace with Raven as the walked out of her shop and toward the gate. 

The population of Arkadia had filed into the relative safety of the electrified gates once the grounders had been spotted, now they milled about aimlessly.

The retinue stayed near the tree line. She could make out Nyko and Indra near the front of what looked like thirty grounders. Clarke scanned the warriors frantically and felt her chest both tighten and relax as she looked for, and didn’t see the red draped shoulder. Lexa had the good sense not to come then.

Clarke felt the air change on her right side. “You invite some friends over Princess?” Bellamy asked his narrowed eyes and crossed arms betrayed the facade of relaxation. Clarke avoided his look and moved up to the fence line, leaving Bellamy and Raven to follow as she reached where Abby and Kane stood at Arkadia’s gate. 

“Clarke, they want to talk to you,” Abby said. 

“Clearly,” Clarke replied, “so, should I go hang out with an army that knows I burned three hundred of their men a few months ago, or should we ask Indra and Nyko to come in?”

Abby and Kane looked at each other for a beat. Clarke turned and looked over her shoulder at Bellamy and Raven. This felt badly familiar. Her friends looking to her to make a choice, waiting for her plan. She looked up into the watchtower for Murphy’s curved back and held her hand out for Bellamy’s radio. 

“Murphy,” she said into the receiver.

“What’s up crazy?” He replied evenly. 

“Just Indra and Nyko, and bring alcohol,” she said. She could almost hear his smirk. 

“You got it,” he replied. 

Feeling her mother’s eyes on her back she walked over to Bellamy and Raven, handing the radio back to him as Murphy’s voice bubbled out of it again, now tuned to the same station that Indra carried hers at. “Grounder assholes one and two are permitted entry,” Murphy said, “drinking must have drinking.”

Clarke walked past Bellamy, brushing his fingers but snapping her hand back fast enough to prevent him from grasping it to stop her. She kept walking as the crowds began to build at the fence line. Eyes down to escape the looks people gave her that probably hadn’t caught a glimpse of the infamous Clarke Griffin in months. She was near the med bay now, ignoring Jackson’s calls of concern. 

She entered the code to the secondary storage closet, locked it behind her, and shuffled behind the tall shelving to rest on the remains of a dropship parachute. Here, curled up in nylon, noise dampened from the air intakes and gauze rolls Clarke let the panic roll over her, her hands grasping her own forearms as the dark well of panic overtook her once again.


	2. Chapter 2

Bellamy’s nose itched. It had been going on for days. His eyes watered as soon as he woke up. Sometimes he’d start sneezing and go for five in a row. Lincoln said it was the pollen, that it was normal in the springtime. Bellamy thought he remembered something about it from Earth Skills, but regardless it was annoying, and when you’re staring down two people who represented the reason he was left to die underneath a mountain, he wanted to look intimidating. As though something more than tree flotsam could bring him down. 

“We can’t begin until Clarke joins us,” Indra stated. Her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. 

“Excellent!” Murphy said as he began setting out cups and pouring drinks. No one had invited him to the meeting. There had been a knock on the door that Bellamy had assumed to be Clarke, but it had ended up being Murphy with a stack of cups and a jug full of Monty’s moonshine. They let him stay after Nyko waved a hand in greeting. Diplomacy was an evolving art for the people of Arkadia. “Sounds like Happy Hour to me.”

The sight of giant Nyko holding the little tin cup delicately in his hands, sipping the atrocious liquor in small dainty sips was ridiculous. He met Murphy’s eyes and quickly looked away lest it make him break into nervous laughter. Clarke was better at this. He preferred to stand behind the blonde with his arms crossed as she got them into and out of trouble. Then they could argue about how she was wrong in private, like always.

Except, there hadn’t been a ‘like always’ lately. He had barely convinced her to come into the gate after the Mountain. He could still see her eyes dart around, staring out at the trees and mountains and he sensed she was gone from him in a way that hurt more than if he had just let her walk away. 

Bellamy, Monty, and Clarke should have all shared the blood equally. And he was struggling, in ways, he couldn’t put into words. And he could see Monty in quiet moments that others missed, head bowed in the middle of a mess hall, tinkering at the still in the early hours, finding careful routes to avoid Jasper. But Clarke, their Princess, and his right arm had been enveloped by the remains of the space station. He was lucky to catch a glimpse of her once a week, and each time he did he felt more unsettled. 

The door swung open finally, and all the eyes looked up to her. It wasn’t a comforting sight. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, her face paler that he thought it had even been that first day on the dropship. Shouldn’t they all be getting tan and strong on the ground? It seemed to be eating away at Clarke instead. 

“Clarke kom Skaikru, the Commander sends her regards,” Indra began. Clarke’s mouth twisted in a grimace, but she kept any retort bitten back.

“Regards noted,” Clarke said her arms folded across her torso, her voice clear despite the nervous strumming of her fingers against her side. “Now explain why she’s asking me to meet her? If you’re looking for the leader of Arkadia, you’re talking to the wrong Griffin woman,” Clarke stated. 

Indra took a breath, “Clarke, Lexa told you a bit about the twelve clans that make up the coalition, correct?” 

Clarke raised an eyebrow in surprise at how Indra ignored the question, but, then she shrugged, “a bit, in between planning to storm a mountain, and betraying me.”

Indra sighed, but nodded encouragingly, “and what of Azgeda?” she asked.

Clarke tilted her head to the side, considering. “White face paint and scars, they live North of here in what used to be called Canada, there’s a Queen.”

“Correct on all accounts,” Nyko said from the back. 

“Are you stalling or do you just enjoy quizzing me?” Clarke asked, annoyed at Indra’s way of talking around the elephant in the room.

“Neither, we’ve been sent to warn you of a bounty on your head,” Indra said, “It has been placed by Queen Nia of Azgeda.”

“Excuse me?” Abby said in the silence, “what was that first part?”

Bellamy thought his heart had stuttered there for a moment, and he looked over at Clarke and found it skip again when he realized her bright blue eyes were staring straight at him. One eyebrow raised as if to say “can you believe this shit?” How long had it been since they’d done that? Know what the other was thinking with just a glance.

“What’s Azgeda’s problem with Clarke?” Murphy said, asking the obvious question.

Indra took a deep breath, almost as if she was nervous. Bellamy wasn’t sure he wanted to meet the thing that could unsettle this warrior. She turned to fully face Clarke now, addressing her, instead of the council.

“You killed the mountain,” Indra began, and the tension in the room seemed to double. “The story of what happened there, and of the death you managed to wreak in just a few seasons is spreading. You’re becoming something more than just a leader of a new clan.” Indra held Clarke’s gaze, if possible she became even paler. 

Clarke narrowed her eyes, “the Commander has only herself to blame for these stories,” Clarke hissed out.

“Hold on,” Bellamy said stepping forward, “Clarke didn’t do these things alone if people are looking to blame,”

“Blame is not the issue here,” Indra interjected. “Who pulled a lever, or worked the tech is unimportant. The people know who led the young clan that fell from the sky. Who burned three hundred of Trirku’s warriors with fire from the depths of hell. Who escaped from a mountain no one but the reapers had ever come back from. Who brought bombs from the sky onto TonDC, and who made the mountain bow to her command.” Indra let the words ring in the room. Bellamy looked over at Abby, her eyes blazing with anger and grief. 

“Well I've certainly been a busy girl,” Clarke said, her voice all wrong, too high. 

“We’re well aware of what Clarke has done to keep her people safe,” Abby interjected. “What hasn’t been discussed is what that has to do with Azgeda putting a bounty on my daughter’s head.”

Indra took a deep breath. “Clarke, Azgeda, and a significant amount of the Commander’s people have begun to name you, ‘Wanheda,’” she said.

The room went silent. Bellamy was trying to keep up but was getting more nervous about the small shaking of Clarke’s shoulders. 

“What the fuck is a Wanheda?” Murphy asked from the back.

Indra let out a long sigh, “it means The Commander of Death. People believe that Clarke has the power to decide who lives and who dies,” Indra said.

Clarke let out a noise that landed somewhere between a moan and a laugh, sinking down into the nearest chair, “Murphy, I need a drink.” 

“You got it Wanheda,” Murphy said, jumping up and pouring a few inches into a proffered cup.

“Indra, what you’re saying doesn’t make any sense,” Abby said, “who cares what they call her, what matters is that there are people trying to kill my daughter but you haven’t told us why!”

“Because the warrior that kills her, gains her power,” Nyko said quietly. “Wouldn’t you follow a Commander into war if they seemingly had the power to choose who lives and who dies?” 

“Well that’s fucking insane,” Murphy drawled, pouring another shot into Clarke’s cup. 

“Your opinion on our beliefs is unimportant.” Indra returned coldly. “And Queen Nia is smart. She is using the Commander’s feelings about Clarke to broker additional power in Polis. She claims that she’ll retract the bounty on Clarke’s head, and the armies she’s moved forward toward Polis if Wanheda proves she’s loyal to the coalition. She doesn’t want to anger the Commander of Death, but claims that Azgeda will only bow to true power. And she wants proof that you believe in Lexa’s command.”

“And what’s the proof she demands?” Clarke asked, head resting on her forearm along the table.

“Azegda ambassadors and the rest of the clans’ representatives will be at the peace treaty signing outside of Polis in ten days,” Indra said. “If Wanheda is there to pledge her loyalties to Polis and Lexa, Nia says she’ll step back. Peace will hold.”

Clarke isn’t going anywhere!” Abby said, “she’s not the Chancellor, she’s just another member of Arkadia.” 

“Clarke,” Indra said ignoring Abby's protests, encouraging Clarke to lift her head up, to look up into her fate. “We can use the power of this title to our advantage. We can keep you safe at the summit, and when you align with Lexa we can stop this rebellion before it becomes a war, before anyone has to die.”

Clarke looked up an Indra, her expression oddly blank, “nice words Indra. But you’re leaving out the part where I made Lexa look weak, and she needs me to pledge my loyalty to make her strong in the eyes of the coalition. I don’t just have power over life and death anymore, do I? Now I have power over Lexa.” Clarke stared back at Indra’s darkening gaze with a challenge in her eyes. Bellamy saw something spark there, the Clarke of dropship retorts and burning bridges.

“That will be the last time you call my Heda weak, Clarke Giffin,” Indra said, leaning forward toward her, Bellamy shifting closer to the table. 

“Arkadia benefits from Lexa kom Trikru being in power,” Nyko spoke up, “whatever your judgments against her are, you should take that into consideration. She’s willing to protect Arkadia even though you are unwilling to join the coalition.”

Clarke nodded, “Lexa is smart, and she is loyal to her people, but we are not her people. There is nothing stopping her from cutting off my head to declare herself both Commander and Wanheda.”

“I think we both know why she doesn’t want that Clarke,” Indra said softly.

“Perhaps,” Clarke said, nodding and looking back down at the table, “but it doesn’t mean she’ll let such weakness stop her, it didn’t before.”

Indra opened her mouth to respond but Nyko’s large hand rested on her shoulder and she reconsidered. 

Clarke stood up slowly, the world resting on her shoulders. “It doesn’t really matter does it?” She asked Indra. “If I don’t do this, if I don’t put on a spectacle for Lexa, Arkadia gets caught in the middle of another war we had no idea existed a year ago. Right?” 

Indra tilted her head slightly, appraising the worn girl, “this is the only path forward Clarke.”

“Fine,” Clarke said, swiping the empty cup from the table, her shoulders sagging, the fire that had so briefly slid across her features doused again. "I'll go."

“No, no,” Abby said stepping forward. “Clarke, I don’t agree to this,” the Chancellor said, her brown eyes wide and frantic. 

“They don’t care, mom,” Clarke said, cheering the air with her cup, her eyes swept the room, taking in Abby’s pained expression, Murphy’s calculating gaze, Indra and Nyko not giving an inch back. “I’ll be at the bar,” she said finally standing up and glancing at Bellamy as though asking for him to disagree. 

He didn’t, he never had a way out for her, he could only offer to be by her side on the way down. His jaw felt locked, saying anything right now would be giving too much away. So she dropped her gaze and opened the door quietly, walking out, her light steps fading away quickly down the hall until only silence hung in the room.

As usual, Murphy broke the contemplation, “do you think if Monty’s moonshine kills her, he’ll get all her power?” 

“Fuck off Murphy,” Bellamy shot back. 

“Already on my way Bell,” he replied, sliding out the door left open from Clarke’s retreat.

Bellamy watched him go, knowing that he should follow him, follow her. But he knew that comforting Clarke, even if she would let him, wouldn’t make the problem disappear. Punching a hole through the wall to release his frustration that the world would never let them rest wouldn’t solve anything. And it looked like storming off by her side and spouting wry insults seemed to be Murphy’s job for the moment. 

“Alright,” he said, letting his breath out, his heart steadying from the adrenaline that had pumped through it as images of Clarke’s dead body filled his imagination. He turned to look over at Abby and Kane, still silent and tight-lipped. Nyko and Indra looked bored. He had a feeling Indra knew how this meeting was going to go, and she was playing cards close to her hand.

Kane walked over to the still open door, closing it with a quiet click. The five figures circled around the table and began to talk about how they would keep the Commander of Death, alive.


	3. Chapter 3

“So, basically Lexa is trying to get you back on her side by scaring you with tales of boogeymen from the North,” Raven summed up as she worked the bar, pouring drinks for Clarke, Monty, Harper, and Murphy all in a row on the makeshift bar stools. Every so often she walk-hopped down the narrow galley to the hunched figure at the end to fill the cup seemingly affixed to his bony hands. 

Clarke looked around apprehensively. Today had jarred her out of her normal routine of hiding and lurking around the camp. She had meant to swipe a bottle from behind the bar and slink away to Raven’s shop, but the mechanic had stared her down until she took a seat, and once the others had shown up, well being alone had for once, felt like the lesser choice. She was even holding conversations now. What was in this moonshine?

“Well, there’s the added problem that if I don’t go with her, Azgeda probably just comes to Arkadia to wipe out what’s left of us in order to, and I quote ‘reap the power of Wanheda,'” Clarke said, lifting the cup to her lips. She raised an eyebrow, “feels like old times at the dropship.”

“Feels like we’d all be a lot better off without Clarke Griffin in our bar,” Jasper slurred out from over his cup. Clarke felt the bruises flare on her neck. Raven whipped her head in his direction. 

“Consider yourself cut off Jasper,” she snarled out. The lanky boy had the good sense to look mildly put out. Monty’s lipped tightened in anger. 

“Without Clarke I’d have been dead more than a few times over,” Harper spoke up. 

Raven nodded in agreement, “besides, I think Azgeda would find that we’re not so easily beaten,” Raven said.

“I doubt the whole of Arkadia feels that way,” Clarke replied. She lifted a finger, circling it in the air. I’m not feeling a whole lot of, all for one, one for all from the people that would end up as collateral damage if war breaks out.” She took a long drink, “and I think given my shiny new nickname they all know how very good I am at racking up the body count.” 

Raven shifted the weight off her bad leg, surveying the groups of people sitting in the open room. There weren’t many. Hard days filled with manual labor meant that most people were in bed before the sun even set. But the ones that weren’t, the farmers, engineers, and metalworkers who had all been at the gates watching the exchange between the grounder delegation and Clarke that afternoon were grouped around mismatched tables, and pre-apocalypse artifacts. More than a few were just blatantly watching the delinquents talk.

“They’re all just wondering who’s sleeping with who,” Murphy said, bringing his fingers up in a less than appropriate gesture at a group of irrigation workers on the far side. “It’s not always about you,” he said, but his tone softened. 

Clarke knew that many of Arkadia chafed at the idea that she and Bellamy had been so intertwined with the decision making that went on around here. Despite all they had done in service of keeping Skaikru safe, they both looked so much like kids that had been handed the keys to power without any vote from them. 

They knew Clarke had killed Finn to stop a war, but the memory was mostly of her standing in torchlight with the boy’s blood on her hands. Many of the parents that made it down were never reunited with the children that had fallen to the ground before them. She knew they wondered why Clarke lived, while theirs did not. Clarke wished they knew how much she thought about that as well.

“Raven, they were all too willing to send Finn out there to die for them, and I gave them exactly what they wanted,” Clarke said, swallowing back stickiness in her throat. “How can I ask for a different ending?” 

“Because you’re not answering for your crimes Clarke, you’re being punished for saving their lives,” Raven gritted out, pouring herself her own cup and knocking it back. She stared at Clarke until she lifted her eyes up to hers. “I’m not losing anyone else. You understand Griffin?” 

“Understood,” Clarke said meekly. 

“Besides,” Raven said, evening out their cups and pulling out a fifth. “Bellamy doesn’t make the best decisions when you’re not around,” she smirked, “after all, he let Murphy join the guard.” 

Clarke felt her cheeks warm as Bellamy settled into the chair on her left, taking the cup Raven had poured as he had come into the bar. 

“Princess,” Bellamy said by way of greeting.

“So,” Clarke began hesitantly “when do I leave?” She asked, trying to keep her voice steady. The panic that had been clawing at the back of her brain since the council meeting wasn’t going to be dampened down by moonshine much longer. 

“Seven days,” Bellamy answered shortly, taking a drink and wincing as it burned down. “But, it won’t be just you.” He avoided her narrowed look, the defiance already clouding her features. “You always ask me to tell you another way,” he said, his hand covered hers, relaxing the clenched fist beneath it. “I think for the first time, I’ve found it.”

“Meaning?” Clarke said, her heart rate ticking up for reasons that were not about guilt.

“We’re going to give the peace thing a chance. You’re going to the summit, but not alone. I don’t trust Lexa to protect you, or not to turn on you, and this Queen Nia is a wild card. So, we’re doing this together,” he said, this time with that shit eating grin on his face, the one she had so often wanted to slap off in their early days at the dropship. 

“Together?” Clarke asked hesitantly, his hand on hers, now above a lever. “Right,” Clarke said, then slowly shaking her head. “No, that’s not happening.” She slid off the barstool, pulling her hand from underneath his grip, her vision closing into pinpricks, her chest tightening.

“Wait, Clarke just listen,” Bellamy said, reaching for her again. Clarke whipped her hand away before he could catch her. 

“No!” She spat. Bellamy’s eyes grew wide, then narrowed in that stubborn anger. 

“No what, Clarke? No, you won’t let me come with? I’d like to see you try and stop me.” Bellamy crossed his arms, she could see their friends look around cautiously. Clarke’s heart was beating so loudly she was sure they could see the jumps underneath her thin top. She was suddenly very aware that the bar had gone quiet. The Arkadians were openly watching, seeing what crazy thing this girl covered in death would do next. 

It seemed like an appropriate time to run. 

***

Clarke was back in Raven’s shop, snuggled between the drums of oil and the curved metal of the wall. She had never told Raven but part of the appeal of her little perch wasn’t just the loud music to drown out her screams, or the comforting presence of the mechanic’s quiet tinkering. It was the smell. The sharp overwhelming stench of the oil, and smoldering smoke. It seemed to choke out all her other senses so she couldn’t think of anything fouler until she dreamed. 

“Clarke?” Bellamy’s voice called out. Clarke sucked in a breath and tucked her legs up closer to her torso. He didn’t stop by Raven’s shop much, it was another reason she stayed here. He always busy with guard duties, council meetings, and whatever other crisis pulled him in a different direction. “Clarke I know you’re in here.”

“I come here to be alone,” Clarke called out. Not moving from her spot. 

“Typical Princess, hiding away in a tower,” Bellamy said zeroing in on where her voice sounded out behind the barrels. He looked around for a moment before sitting down at the table, playing with the random bits of tools and gadgets Raven had left spread out.

“People don’t like looking at me,” Clarke said, “I don’t like looking at them. This makes it easier on everyone.”

Bellamy snorted, “Clarke, first of all, everyone likes looking at you,” he said. “Secondly, there’s no one in this camp, yourself included who doesn’t like looking at me.”

“Stop flirting,” she said. 

“It’s my natural state of being,” he said. “Now, since you’re all nice and cozy up there how about you sit and listen for a change?” 

“Thought the hero was supposed to rescue the damsel from the tower, not trap her there?” Clarke interrupted. 

She could hear him shifting in the chair. “I’m not a hero Clarke. And you’re sure not a fucking helpless damsel. If you would just shut up for a moment, and listen to the person that had to spend two hours arguing with your Mother, Kane, and Indra instead of getting to just walk to the bar, maybe you’d end up agreeing with my plan.” 

Clarke snapped her mouth shut, “I’m listening.” she said, her voice small.

Bellamy sighed, “It’s a miracle,” he said dryly. “Okay, so we know you going to this peace treaty alone isn’t an option. But trying to outrun Azgeda’s bounty hunters won’t work either. It’s not sustainable and it puts Arkadia in danger.”

“You’re not sustainable,” Clarke muttered. “What was that?” Bellamy asked sharply. 

“I said, that’s understandable,” Clarke called back. 

“Right.” Bellamy said sourly, “so, the first thing I wrung out of Indra was taking the kill order on Lincoln off.”

“Bell,” Clarke sat up straighter, “that’s amazing, how did you manage that?”

“We’re going to be putting on a bit of a show, and you’re playing a part to sell it. I told Indra if she wanted her Commander’s coalition intact she was going to have to make a few concessions herself. And I didn’t want to leave Octavia alone here, she and Lincoln keep talking about escaping to some floating clan or some other bullshit. She’s giving me grey hair,” he said, and she could tell he was running a hand through the unruly curls. 

“So the four of us are going to this thing?” Clarke asked. 

“Well, actually it’s more than just the four of us,” he said hesitantly. 

“Come again?” Clarke asked.

He had the nerve to crack a smile. “The 100 ride again.”

“Woah, no no no no no,” Clarke said sitting up frantically and promptly slammed her forehead into the low overhanging bulwark. “Oh fuck,” she groaned, blinking rapidly at the black spots in her vision. She didn’t even notice Bellamy running up to her platform until his hands were on her face, checking her hairline for the cut she knew wasn’t there. She really did mean to pull away, to shrug off the comfort she didn’t deserve, but his hands were just so warm, and she could feel a headache beginning to shoot sharply at her temple. 

“Clarke,” Bellamy said softly, his thumbs stroking her cheekbone, “look at me, please.”

She couldn’t help herself. She opened her eyes and as the black dots pulled away she found herself staring into Bellamy’s. He was looking at her so intently, and Clarke could feel something start to crack, a shudder running through her. She was always so cold, but now her body felt like it was on fire, as Bellamy’s hands cupped her face. It was too much, so instead, she dropped her gaze to his cheeks, counting the freckles that were still visible in her little dark cave. 

She didn’t move when his hands dropped slightly to peel back the collar of her jacket, praying that he couldn’t see the way her pulse was going crazy. She focused instead on the curve of his lips, the way his dark curls had grown out and drifted over his forehead. She thought absently that no one was cutting their hair. Hers was matted and greased, and soon Bellamy's would be long enough to gather back in a bun like Nyko’s.

His hands kept drifting down to her neck and she knew he was asking permission. She stilled for a moment, then lifted her throat to expose the bruises that now lined it. She had seen a flash of them before heading to the bar earlier. Ten dark red bruised indents around her throat. He touched them so lightly, as though he could make them disappear if something kind and tender covered up the hatred that had caused them.

“Clarke,” he spoke, his voice filled with sadness. “You don’t deserve this.” 

“What do I deserve?” Clarke asked, suddenly desperate to know, “because what I did shouldn't go unanswered.”

“What we did Clarke,” Bellamy’s voice shook. His hands tightened back on her face, fingers careful not to rest on the bruises. “Stop leaving me out of the equation. Stop trying to bear it all.

“Bell, I...” Clarke croaked out, but she was saved from herself by the slam of the shop door hitting the shelves lined against the opposite wall. Raven stomped into the room, the little hop in her gate making her high ponytail swing back and forth, and accessory to her urgency. 

She looked up, scrutinizing them angrily for a moment. “If you guys could take a moment from the drama of whatever that is, come over to Monty’s tent. We have a lot to figure out and, like always, you idiots need me to keep you from dying, or blowing yourself up, or whatever,” she said throwing her hands in the air, as though whatever encompassed the extent of their bad ideas. 

“Raven, I’m not letting you guys put yourself in danger,” Clarke said, taking the opportunity to disengage herself from Bellamy’s hands, trying not to regret the loss of warmth. She shifted awkwardly towards the railing because there wasn’t enough room to stand with both her and Bellamy on the landing.

“Yes, well good thing we decided to not put our fates just in your hands today Griffin,” Raven said. She was out the door before Clarke could begin to build a coherent reply. 

“Maybe you just let us help this time Clarke,” he said quietly. “You going it on your own isn’t the selfless act. It’s the stupid one. We always do better when we take on the ground together.”

Clarke opened up her mouth to snap back something dark and ugly about what they were able to do together. But the look in his eyes stopped her. The pain was so familiar. How long had he been looking for someone to share his struggle with, and she’d been hiding in a tower? She nodded finally, and Bellamy backed away awkwardly and down the stairs. 

“Bell?” she called out tentatively. 

“Yeah Princess,” he said wearily, running his hands through his curls.

“I think we should get haircuts. Before we go.” Bellamy raised an eyebrow at her. 

“Haircuts?”

“Yeah, if we’re acting as ambassadors for Arkadia we should at least look presentable,” Clarke said. “You look like one of those pre-war metal band people.” 

“You’re one to talk Rapunzel,” Bellamy muttered as he turned toward the door. “I’ll let you cut it before we go,” he said before he was all the way out the door, “but I swear to the stars, if you make me look like Murphy I'll lock you in this tower and let the dragon eat you.” 

“Stop flirting,” Clarke whispered back to no one. But in the encroaching darkness she brought her hands up to her own face, pretending she could still feel him there, and before she could tell herself that she didn’t deserve it, she could feel the unfamiliar lines of her own smile twitch beneath her fingers.


	4. Chapter 4

It took a week before they were ready to go. A week of Bellamy stomping deep grooves between the rover, the horses, and the entrance bay to the ark as he loaded supplies and glared at those in his way. 

A week of Octavia and Lincoln looking lit up from within as they prepared for days outside the confines of fences and council orders. 

A week of Jasper getting alcohol poisoning and ending up in med bay. 

And, for Clarke, a week of sitting through hours and hours of sessions with Indra and Nyko learning about the complex world of grounder politics. Some were having better weeks than others. Clark’s money was that Jasper had gotten the best deal despite the stomach pump. 

She was nearly dizzy with facts and restrictions. Say this, not that. If you do this they’ll take offense. Don’t ask about the scars on Azgeda faces. Don’t wander off on your own. Don’t talk about Lexa unless asked. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t. 

“Thank’s Indra, i’ll keep it in mind to not openly insult random strangers,” Clarke said, exasperated to the point of tears after having it explained to her, once again, what a precarious tight rope she’d be walking. 

“Clarke, this is important,” her mother said, rising from behind her desk, reams of travel documents, emissary assignments, and medals denoting their positions cluttered the top. “We can’t afford for this to go wrong.”

Clarke sighed, laying her head down on top of her arms. On the ark, the classroom had been a haven, but after this week she was tense, snapping, and finding that the maps and charts were somehow the scariest part of nightmares that were now just a constant loop behind closed eyes.

“I know you’re worried about meeting the Commander,” Indra said from her position at the table, “but she has assured me that she will not interact with you, beyond what is absolutely necessary to convince Azgeda of your loyalties.” 

Clarke snorted into her arms. She could hear her mother muttering something darkly under her breath. Clarke lifted her chin up to rest on crossed arms, staring at the warrior, who blinked back, unperturbed. Clarke knew that it was maybe, just possibly, time to develop some healthier coping mechanisms when conversations that broached the topic of Lexa, or the mountain, or mass murder, came up. 

So, instead of running a way to a dark little corner to scream into gauze wrappings and hyperventilate, she closed her eyes and slowly counted back from ten, placing an image of something nice at each second. 10, the smell of the air the first time she was on the ground. 9, seeing stars from the surface, 8, the day Harper had out shot all the guys, Bellamy included at target practice, 7, seeing Bellamy alive after escaping the mountain, and on it went. 

The tightness in her chest loosened, and while she could feel the exhaustion pulling at her frayed nerves Clarke simply said, “it’s appreciated.” 

Indra’s stance relaxed, infinitesimally. “I think we’ve said all we can, we need to meet the commander at the summit early,” Indra said, turning to her mother and Kane. “Abby, Kane, thank you for your hospitality. I know Nyko has certainly enjoyed your poison water.” 

Nyko leaned forward out of the shadows where he’d been sitting in a corner of the room. “That John Murphy is the one to blame,” he said without malice, walking toward her with a sheaf of papers he had been binding together during their time in the camp.

“Blaming John Murphy is a Skaikru tradition,” Clarke said. “Thank you for making that for me Nyko. I haven't had a sketch book in a long time.” Clarke stood up, feeling her joints crack after so many hours bent in the chair. 

Nyko nodded, wrapping the thin strip of leather around the book and placing it into her right hand. He grasped her left and laid it on top, holding it there with his own. “Clarke kom Skaikru, good luck,” he said, his expression honest. “Be at peace.”

Clarke swallowed back the catch in her throat. He said it like a prayer, and Clarke suddenly felt protected in a way she wasn’t willing to ponder just now. She nodded, and hoped he understood. She was scared to see them go, it was becoming too real. Her hands itched constantly these days, telling her to run run run, before it all came down to only bad choices. 

“Clarke, please stay behind a moment,” Abby said as Kane walked the two grounders out to the gates. 

“Mom?” Clarke asked as the door clicked shut behind them.

“I just wanted to say,” Abby began walking toward her “that i’m proud of you. We’ve asked so much of you, again, and you’ve risen to the challenge,” she said. Clarke wondered if Abby was going to reach out to her, her arms lifting a bit, but settling instead by her slim frame.

“Well, thanks,” Clarke said, trying to reach for words that would comfort her mother. “Just another adventure on the ground I guess.”

Abby hesitate as if testing the air for what came next, “If your father was here, he,” 

“He’s not,” Clarke said abruptly, backing away from her. “Please don’t Mom, not now. I know you think i’ve, ‘risen to the challenge,’ but i’m just taking it minute by minute. Invoking my dead dad for what, moral clarity? It isn’t going to help me.” 

“Fine, just, Clarke can you promise me one thing?” Abby asked, dark eyes searched her daughter’s fragile blue. 

“I can’t promise i’ll stay safe Mom,” Clarke said, looking down at her hands. “That promise gets broken the moment I leave the gates. On a mission you sanctioned, by the way.” 

“I wasn’t going to ask that,” Abby said, hands reaching forward to grasp her daughter’s arms. “I was going to tell you to have fun.”

Clarke’s head snapped up, confusion flit across her features. “I’m about to ride out toward a peace summit days away, with a bounty on my head, to try some tricky political maneuvering with a rebel Queen and her son. And you’re telling me to have fun? Did Murphy slip something in your drink?”

Abby’s mouth twisted into something people might claim to be a teasing smile. “That’s one way to look at it. 

“Or?”

“Or, you’re about to have time with your friends, in the fresh air, trekking across a world we thought you’d never see. If you frame it the right way, you’re about to live the dream all the arker’s had up on that station.”

“When did you become such an optimist?” Clarke asked

“We don’t live in a world where tomorrow is promised Clarke. Knowing you’re out there, smiling, laughing, living and not curled into a ball, and rotting in your guilt in this relic of our past makes me happy,” she said. 

Clarke’s eyes widened at her admission. “So you want me to promise to have fun while I play diplomatic chess?” 

“If you can work it into the event schedule, yes,” Abby replied tepidly, smiling all the same. 

Clarke stared at her quizzically, before realizing the gift Abby was giving her. No promises to come home, no promises to stay alive, no asking her to think of what it would do to Abby if she perished. She was letting her go, taking off a burden Clarke hadn’t even known she was carrying. She was giving her freedom from bearing her mother’s pain. One less person to carry around.

As Clarke folded herself into her Mom’s embrace, she realized it was the easiest promise she had ever made.

***

Clarke woke up well before dawn the day the were due to leave Arkadia. Her heart was racing as she wiped away the slick film of sweat on her brow. She’d had a feeling she’d have that particular nightmare. Green eyes rimmed in darkness as Cage Wallace placed rocks over her, burying her. Clarke grabbed her water bottle, the only part of her travel pack she’d left out and took a long drink as she pulled herself up to a sit and ponder the streaks of blue and purple in the sky. Colors that now mingled among the increasingly light strands of her hair.

Everything else she needed had already been packed, her sleeping bag and tent rolled up so that the night was spent underneath the stars on the bare cot, feet in boots, coat zipped up, gloves on. If she could have slept sitting up on her Trikru supplied horse at the gate, she would've done it. 

Looking around Arkadia at this time of day, (or night depending on your perspective) she was struck by the strangest sense of peacefulness. She had spent so much time wishing she could leave this stinking camp behind. She was sick of the eyes that followed her around. Most of Arkadia had seen a battered, but confident young woman those first few weeks after the ship had crashed down. Scarred and dirty yes, but always walking purposefully to the next problem, strategizing, planning, fixing, demanding. She had wielded a lot of power, to the detriment of those that opposed her. 

She knew that the months after the fall of the mountain she had receded from any semblance of that person. Hair grew unkempt and wild in the fresh air and sun as it had never done before. Food tasted like dirt in her mouth so she often handed her rations to hunting parties that were actually expending calories in service of the camp, instead of crawling into heating ducts and supply closets. 

She had once liked her curves, but now felt the sharp points of her arms, her cheekbones standing in prominence. She knew that her eyes were always darting around looking for the next threat. That she walked with her head bowed, eyes firmly on her feet. The gratitude the parents of the remaining 100 had shown her at first had receded rapidly into pity, then disgust as she shriveled into herself. 

But Clarke wasn’t going to leave the camp wrapped up in that shell. As always, Raven had supplied the solution. She, Octavia, Clarke, and Harper had gone down to the river with a small contingent of Trikru warriors two days ago. Despite the chill in the air they had stripped and waded into the water, armed with just a block of lye soap. Clarke had scrubbed and scrubbed her body and hair until even her fingernails were back to being clear and pink. She hadn’t been this clean since before she’d been thrown into the skybox.

Afterwards, Raven had pulled her with surprising strength to her shop and sat her down on a stool. She wielded a pair of scissors at her hair as though Clarke was nothing more than another finicky radio to be rewired so that the sound came through properly. 

When she was done, Clarke’s hair still curled in golden hues but instead of matted and dreaded near the small of her back it stopped just a few inches below her collarbone. The red and blue berries that were as poisonous to eat as they were brilliantly hued, made streaks of dark purple in her hair. 

With the grounder leathers on her legs, the soft gray-blue Henley of the ark, and the newly made fur lined jackets that glinted with streaks of silver metal at the end, Clarke had felt as though perhaps she was finally seeing Wanheda. She looked dangerous without the cover of madness. 

The mechanic’s dark eyes had sparkled in delight at the scene of Clarke admiring her appearance after far too long. She was smiling. And yes, it didn’t quite reach her eyes, and the shadows beneath them threw the thinness of her face into sharp relief, but she was starting to hold herself in a familiar way. 

Head up, shoulders back, chin not quite jutted out but thinking about it. She wasn’t the Clarke that had popped open that little drop ship Raven had cobbled together. She wasn’t the one that had bonded with her over heartache and terror. But she was still Clarke. More than a little dicey around the edges now, but she was recognizable. 

“They’re either going to want to run from you or screw you,” Raven said as she cleaned up the dye, trailing the last bit of red color near the ends of her own dark strands. 

“Running away from me would be preferable,” Clarke said, turning from the glass. “But thank you Raven, really, this was,” Clarke tried to finish but to her horror could feel a lump rise in her throat and tears prick at the edges of her eyes. 

“It’s just really good to see you again Griffin, I’ve missed you.” Raven said finally, turning away hastily as she packed the last of what she had deemed “essential” tools into her pack. Clarke knew it was mostly bits and pieces to help with her brace. This wasn’t going to be an easy journey for Raven, in a much different way than the pain Clarke knew awaited her.

“I’ve spent the better part of six months in this shop with you Reyes,” Clarke said jokingly. “I’d think you’d be sick of me by now.”

“No Clarke," Raven said shaking her head, "I’ve missed you. The girl that I met at the drop ship, the girl that screwed my boyfriend, the girl that wouldn't back down until we got out of the mountain. She hasn’t been around for awhile. It’s just nice to know she’s still in there somewhere.” Raven said. “And, she’s going to miss the morning bell if she doesn’t get to sleep.” She finished pointedly and Clarke took the hint, placing a hand on her shoulder in a silent, final thank you for services rendered on her way out.

So now Clarke matched the dawn that was breaking over the land. Her brain was buzzing with anxiety but she kept her hands steady, wrapped around the canteen. The majority of the camp had been mostly unconcerned with the news that a few of the delinquents would be leaving to act in a peacekeeping mission. The fact that if it all went wrong Azgeda could be at their gates with spears and swords and death had been glossed over. Perhaps spring being around the corner, their first on the ground, had made the possibility of returning to death and destruction too much to confront.

Or, Clarke mulled, they simply chalked up the threat to another crazy grounder tale. Bone marrow and genetics they got. But the idea that an army would follow whoever slit the throat of a teenager with a penchant for levers was just too far fetched for them. 

Ice Queens and teenage Commanders. Fierce warriors and healers. Ritual sacrifices and fighting pits. If Clarke had felt up to a history lesson with Bellamy he would have told her that their ways in the sky, with eighteen-year old bodies littering the stars for petty crimes would have seemed pretty savage to the grounders. At least when someone died by a hundred cuts it was for something more serious than stealing pain pills, or finding a different use for herbs than as a spice. 

So, while it was with general interest and slight dismay that their resident mechanic and distiller would be absent for a few weeks, they went on with their day. Clarke hoped desperately that they would continue to live in denial, because they would only have to accept reality if she failed. 

By the time she had led the horse to the front of the gate the sun was visible in the distance. As the light broke over Arkadia, Clarke turned to see Bellamy making his way to meet her. She had cut his hair like he’d asked. He had shed his guard uniform too, and was dressed like Clarke, the same mix of grounder and Skaikru fabrics and metals. They would never be mistaken for Grounders, but they had started to look like something besides the hapless children from the stars. 

Clarke silently handed him her canteen as he got near, and he traded her the steaming cup of tea he had been carrying from the mess hall. He took a drink, appraising her from over the edge. It was all shadows in this early light but Clarke fought a smirk off her face as he reached over and slipped some of the now plum-colored hair through his fingers.

“You look nice too Bellamy,” Clarke said quietly looking up at his own chopped locks. 

“Did I give you a compliment Princess?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“You were thinking it,” she said. His hands threw off warmth in the cool air as he let the strands fall back down.

“I was thinking it’s smart not to give the enemy something to hold on to.” He said brusquely.

“I’m not really a hand-to-hand combat kind of girl,” Clarke said. “I’m more of a defeat them with my mind kind of fighter.” 

Bellamy smiled, “maybe O will give you some lessons. The others actually showed up to self-defense classes this winter,” he said chidingly. 

“Octavia just wants to hit me,” Clarke muttered. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t more than a little jealous of the younger Blake’s fast rise as a skilled warrior. Between Indra’s initial introduction, and Lincoln’s continued sparring lessons she had emerged as a frighteningly good fighter. “Isn’t she still angry at me for TonDC?” Clarke asked cautiously, testing the waters. When you’ve been hiding for months, you lose a grasp on the status of your own friendships.

Bellamy sighed, “how about the less you bring up that up, the better this trip will be?”

Clarke felt her back straighten, “that, I can do,” she said. 

“Great,” he said, walking over to her horse now, double checking the stirrups and making sure everything was strapped tightly. 

“You ready?” he asked, eyes glancing over at her.

“No,” Clarke said softly, pushing small divots into the ground with her boot. “But, I think Wanheda is.” 

Bellamy nodded, “good, because here they come.”

It would be nine of them, plus Kane, for the travel to Polis. Clarke looked back toward the camp to see Octavia and Lincoln astride their horses. Monty, Harper, Raven, Murphy, and Miller were in the Rover. It had been Raven’s idea. She wasn’t great on a horse, and she pointed out that since most of their plans went to hell, why not make a plan B? 

Clarke nodded to herself as she saw the group. Not for nothing, but they all looked good. Eyes bright, the promise of adventure in front of them. Sure, they may be heading into a futile, bloody end, but by god, no more latrine or mess hall duty for a camp of over four hundred. 

Buoyed by the sight of her friends, by the warm tea in her stomach and the days ahead filled with wide open spaces made Clarke feel light. The appearance of shriveled, wincing Jasper walking next to Octavia’s horse extinguished it in fast order. 

Clarke tried to tell herself that he was coming along to say goodbye, playing the part of helpful friend once again. She knew it was a lie. 

“Bellamy, what’s Jasper doing?” Clarke asked, trying to keep her voice from shaking. From the furious way Bellamy was glaring at the slight boy she could tell that this had been unexpected for him as well. 

“I’ll find out,” he said, already striding towards Octavia and Jasper. They were yards away, so Clarke couldn’t hear them, but from Bellamy’s angry hands waving around, Octavia's snarling retorts, and Jasper’s pained face staring at the ground she had a good idea what was going on. 

The Rover had continued on and stopped at the gate by Clarke, Monty getting out from the passenger side to amble over to her. His hair was shorter too, it made him look older. 

Clarke nodded her head to the tense trio, “did you know he was coming with?” She asked. 

Monty nodded slightly, “he talked Kane into letting him come last night.”

“Why?” Clarke gasped, the memory of her once sweet friend choking and clawing at her filled her mind. “He literally wishes I was dead, he hasn’t been seen sober in…” Clarke trailed off. She knew this hurt Monty more than her. 

“Apparently he’s been sober since he got his stomach pumped the last time, and was coherent enough to understand we were going on this trip,” he said. “Kane has been keeping an eye on him since he won’t room with any of us, and he thinks it would be good for him to have a task.”

“Someone should tell Kane this isn’t AA, how the hell does he think he can help us with this?” Clarke asked nervously.

“Yeah, Clarke I don’t know,” Monty said angrily, “we haven’t had a conversation that hasn’t ended in punches, or him telling me that he sees Maya melting every time he looks at me.”

“Sounds familiar,” Clarke muttered. “Sorry, Monty.” 

“Whatever,” Monty said, “don’t let him shake you Clarke.” Monty turned and stared at her so intensely she almost took a step back.

“I’ve gotten pretty used to Jasper hating me Monty, I just don’t know if him trying to kill me before we even get there is the best idea.” 

Monty raised an eyebrow at her. “Look at him Clarke, I think he’s going to be more focused on not passing out on the way.”

“Doesn’t take a lot of physical strength to pull a trigger,” Clarke said softly. 

Monty sighed, “I promise, I’ll tie him down in the back of the Rover if I think he’s a risk.” 

Clarke nodded, stepping her feet into the stirrups and swinging her leg up on the horse. Monty stepped back into the Rover, Harper’s face lined with worry behind the wheel. She could hear Bellamy coming back and swiftly joining her astride his own horse. 

“He’s coming. He’ll ride in the Rover. He doesn’t get a gun. And if he even looks at you wrong I’m going to push him into the nearest gorge,” Bellamy huffed, his face red as he adjusted the straps on his rifle. 

“My hero,” Clarke bit out sourly. All signs of her good mood vanished. 

He didn’t take the bait, and stared straight ahead as the gates pushed back and the peacemakers began their journey toward Polis. 

Arkadia receded into the distance, and Clarke never looked back.


	5. Chapter 5

Over the next three days they kept the rover and the horses at the same pace, Lincoln and Octavia riding out farther to scout every few hours. Raven passed the drive by taking apart and putting back together their radios until she had soldered enough around every wire she declared them mostly indestructible to anyone that wasn’t a complete moron. 

Harper, Monty, and Miller had annoyed everyone near them with their sing along renditions of pre-war hits, played on some of the mp3 units they had found in Mount Weather, ignoring the storm in Jasper’s eyes as they plugged it into the rudimentary sound system. 

Clarke could see Bellamy’s wide smile appearing more and more the farther they got from Arkadia. She surprised herself at how happy she was to be around her friends, their quick banter drifting around her. Every so often she was struck by the thought that she had been apart of causing this too, she was capable of creating more than destruction. The only thing that gave her pause were the moments around the campfire at night before they turned into their tents. Bellamy and Miller joked easily back and forth, bringing up moments at camp that Clarke had no idea had happened. 

Monty told a story about spiking the cook’s wine with some jobi nuts so they could steal what they needed for the still. Clarke thought it sounded like a classic Monty and Jasper heist, but realized that it was Harper who had crawled her way through the air ducts and dropped down to grab the tubing, nearly putting her whole leg in that day’s soup. 

The retelling had Harper nearly doubled over with laughter, and Clarke saw Jasper tense over in his corner near Kane, the older man whispering quietly in his ear. Octavia told her about slipping in and out of the electrified fence at night by the sound of Raven’s music, a hidden signal that let her roam freely without permission from the council. 

Miller had even taught Lincoln some of their favorite drinking games, talking about how the tall man had downed seven, SEVEN cups of moonshine and still executed a full breakdown and rebuild of his rifle with his eyes closed. Bullets not included.

She had missed so much. It left a different kind of hollow feeling in her gut. Sometimes she felt like she was simply in orbit around her friends. Circling around and around but never getting closer, trapped in memories and dust. Bellamy must have noticed, because he began telling stories from when they were all at the dropship. Stories that included Clarke.

“You were so mad at me, if we had bullets to waste I was certain I would’ve been shot,” he said, eyes dancing along with the flickering flames of their campfire.

Clarke groaned, “you have no idea how long it took to organize the laundry schedule and then you use my paper to draw up plans for a fucking armory.” 

“Clarke, we were facing lethal grounders,” Bellamy said in mock horror, tossing a glance over at a smiling Lincoln.

“We had one handgun, four knives, and a bunch of spears sharpened by a fourteen year old that was put in the skybox for using his skills to build an effigy of Jaha and burn it,” Clarke returned. “The sanitary conditions were by far a more pressing concern,” she finished, pushing her shoulders back. 

“Alright Princess, perhaps you were right that time,” he said, grabbing a handful of the berries from his pack and tossing them back into his mouth. “Okay kids, turn in, big day tomorrow,” Bellamy said. The group groaned, getting to their feet, aches and pains evident in the ones that had been astride a horse that day. 

Kane got up from his spot near Jasper and walked toward her, “Clarke, would you mind walking with me a for awhile? I want to go over the plans tomorrow one more time.” 

“Kane, seriously I got this,” Clarke replied, standing and dusting off her hands, the berry juice sticking little pieces of grass all over. 

“Please Clarke,” Kane said earnestly and Clarke stopped for a moment staring at the increasingly grey faced man. It was then she noticed that Jasper had already retreated to the tent he’d been sharing with Kane. 

He’d been taking a page from the Clarke Griffin book of “Conversations for the Damaged” and had been returning the few questions posed to him with Yes, No, or just silence. The lack of venom in his voice was a welcome change, and she knew a lot of that rested on Kane’s shoulders, and thereby she should be grateful for the peace it seemed to be giving Monty.

“Fine,” Clarke said flatly, “but I want it noted that walking into the dark forest while there’s a bounty on my head was your idea.” She had just turned to look for her flashlight when she felt Bellamy press it into her hand.

“Be careful out there Wanheda,” Bellamy said, a smile in his voice. 

“Get your rest old man,” Clarke retorted, holding on to his hand for a brief moment longer than necessary, reassuring him. She knew her months of avoidance had torn something in their partnership, but even if this trip ended up killing her, trying to repair it, slowly, might be worth it.

She motioned for Kane to start walking down the path and she fell into step at his side. They had walked in silence for a few minutes when Kane stopped and looked up at the night sky. 

“Stars are out,” he said quietly

“Happens at night,” Clarke said, turning toward him now. “What’s this really about Kane? You know I have the game plan memorized.”

“Of course Clarke,” Kane said smiling sadly, “I was hoping to talk to you about something else, I think perhaps you could convince the group of it as well.”

Clarke sighed “Kane, Jasper isn’t something you can solve in a week of forced sobriety.” 

“He came to me Clarke, he wants to ask your forgiveness. He knows he was lashing out, he was just in so much pain, he,”

“He’s in pain?” Clarke spit out, louder than she’d intended. “Oh dear, Kane, so sorry, Jasper’s feeling all broken and sad. I can’t relate at all,” she said bitterly. 

Kane looked down at her disapprovingly. “Clarke, I know he’s acted abhorrently to you, to you all, but Jasper deserves a chance to reconcile with his friends.”

“He tried to kill me, Kane,” Clarke muttered, pressing her hands to her throat. “Did he you tell you that?”

“Yes,” Kane said, “he feels terrible about it. He knows he has a lot of rebuilding to do, but that’s why he wanted to come, he wanted to be of service after he heard you were all going to represent Skaikru as the peace summit…” Kane trailed off, shifting his feet awkwardly. “You weren’t exactly a stranger to the bar top in the beginning either,” he finished lamely. 

Clarke paused before replying because she could feel the deep well of anger still within her. She considered how alike her and Jasper had been in the aftermath. She knew she’d been messy, and depressing, and troubling to those around her. But all her anger she had turned inward. She’d put herself on autopilot and saved her screams and pounding fists for her own legs and arms. Her hatred might have choked her into small corners, made her monsters attack her the moment she closed her eyes, but she’d never asked for pity, she didn’t deserve it. 

She folded her arms in front of her, willing her voice to stay steady. “Trust is earned. You see me all clean and sensible and not curled up in a supply closet? Look, i’m talking to people, i’m not hiding, i’m going to a place where people think killing me will give them superpowers. That’s me earning it,” she forced out. 

Kane tilted his head, “you think Jasper’s not trying to do the same?”

“Jasper could be working on creating medications again for my mom. We’re nearly out of what the ark had before you guys crashed. Hell, he could just be a pleasant person around camp, and that would be an improvement to people’s lives. Instead, he chose to come with us. He’s a shitty shot. He sets us on edge, and spreads our attention thin when we should be focused on the task ahead. His being here puts all of us at risk. He’s not looking for redemption from his friends, he’s looking for a different way to get me killed!”

“Clarke,” Kane said, “he’s doing his best. We all heal in different ways, and in different time.”

Clarke let her arms drop to her sides, the beam of the flashlight catching the gnats circling her berry stained fingers. She’d forgotten how impassive the man could be. For someone that had stood by and floated countless eighteen-year olds, he sat a top a very high moral pedestal. 

“You took the wrong murderer out for a walk Kane,” Clarke said wearily. “Tell Jasper we’ll follow Monty’s lead on this one.” 

She walked numbly back to the camp, turning off her light before it could disturb the others. Her bedroll was already laid out neatly, about a foot away from Bellamy who had his arms crossed underneath his head, staring up at the stars. He’d been doing this the last two nights. Making sure she slept near him. Perhaps it looked like something to the rest of the group, but Clarke knew it was just to wake her up fast when she started screaming. After all, everyone needed their rest. 

She spared a glance at Jasper’s tent, but it was set too far into the shadows to see if the boy was awake or not. She laid down slowly, feeling the tendrils of stress at her temples, her heart beating too rapidly for the light walk.

“You okay?” Bellamy breathed out, so that his voice only reached Clarke as she knelt down on the roll.

“Not really,” she said, turning onto her side to face him. The fire had burned down enough that his face was in shadows as she studied his profile. 

Bellamy said nothing, but took one of his arms from behind his head and held his hand out, palm up. She laid her own in his, intertwining their fingers, telling herself it was just a matter of survival.

She drifted off like that, hand in hand with the man that seemed to be the only person that could bring her out of orbit, the nightmares kept at bay a little longer that night.

***

“This is Polis?” Raven asked in awe as she looked out at the hundreds of grounders and their various factions spread out among broad canopies in the valley below them. 

“No, Raven this is just where the summit will be held. Polis is 10 miles further east,” Kane answered as he helped her out of the back of the Rover, her leg stiff after so many hours cooped up. 

“If you’d like to go someday, after this is over I could arrange it,” he added helpfully. “I’m sure the Commander would be grateful for your expertise.” 

“Yeah yeah, sharing knowledge and all that,” Raven waved him away with her hand. “I’m more interested in finding the remains of NASA. I heard it was pretty cool back in the day.” 

“Raven most of the rockets were sent up south of here,” Monty said as he unloaded the crates of gifts and supplies they had brought with them as they paced out the space they’d need for their own Skaikru section of the field. 

“So...next field trip when someone wants to kill Clarke?” Raven said with a broad smile.

“Hey now,” Clarke said coming up behind her, placing a box full of Abby’s medical supplies at her feet. “Why can’t we just go there because we want to?”

“Who’s going to tell your mother that Arkadia’s dream team is going to take a joy ride for the hell of it?” Raven challenged

“I’m on the dream team?” Clarke said in mock shock

“No, i’m the dream team. Just me.” Raven said setting up the little camping chair and sitting down with a sigh as she slowly stretched out her hip. “You guys are JV, or the people that bring water.”

“I’m going to remember that the next time you ask for a batch of moonshine to include more lavender,” Monty grumbled as he came back from his third trip to the rover. Raven just grinned, eyes dancing. 

They were all feeling it. A little reckless, a little bit too much adrenaline coursing through them. They’d been living in relative safety in the day to day drudgery, so being on the razor’s edge was strangely welcoming...which, in itself, was a bit concerning Clarke supposed.

“You put lavender in the moonshine?” Jasper croaked out. He seemed to suddenly regret the question as so many pairs of eyes swiveled to stare at him. 

“You didn’t notice Jasper? You drank most of that batch,” Monty replied.

Jasper was saved the need for a reply when a large horn sounded in the distance. Kane strode up to them. “That’s our cue.”

“Hey losers, let’s not start this thing off by being the last to the welcome,” Octavia said, taking long strides toward the center. Clarke took a deep breath, and stepped alongside the girl. 

“This is amazing,” Octavia said softly as they walked. 

Clarke nodded, “hopefully I can keep it all from turning into a mess.”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short Wanheda, you got Lincoln’s kill order overturned.” Octavia said smiling darkly. “So even if Lexa kills you today, you can die knowing i’ve mostly forgiven you for dropping a bomb on me because some chick you wanted to bang told you it was a good idea.” She ignored the falter in Clarke’s steps, lifting an arm around her shoulders and pulling her in to keep her walking. 

“Octavia, I” Clark mumbled, but she could feel Octavia’s arm like a vice around her shoulders. 

“Listen up, Clarke, you may have done what you did to keep Bellamy alive, but don’t think i don’t see what you're doing now. It’s just as dangerous as letting him go into that mountain in the first place.” Octavia whispered fast and furious, throwing a quick smile to Lincoln’s frown as he walked toward the women.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Octavia,” Clarke said trying to keep her voice steady.

“Sure you don’t Wanheda,” Octavia said. Releasing her shoulders with a small pat to her back, as though she was just giving her a quick pep talk. “Go on, you’re needed in the middle of everything, like usual.” 

Octavia sped up to match her pace with Lincoln, leaving Clarke shuffling around a bit in the uneven grass that had been beaten flat from the horses and carts traversing it. Clarke shook her head, there was no time to fall apart. No time to piece out what Octavia was implying. Her and Bellamy, they were something sure, but not what Octavia thought. Not yet, a small, traitorous voice whispered in her mind. 

Kane caught up with her, looking down at her warily, “What was that all about?” He asked. 

“Girl stuff,” Clarke replied shortly.

Kane frowned, “I need to know you’re ready for this Clarke,” Kane said. 

“It’s Wanheda,” She snapped back. Kane raised his eyebrows. “At least until we’re back at Arkadia. It’s Wanheda while we’re around the clans...and her.”

Kane nodded minutely, “Yes, Wanheda. That’s smart.”

They had reached the middle of the clearing, taking their spot in the gap left for them in the semicircle of ambassadors that surrounded Lexa’s grand tent. The Commander had yet to step out and take her place on the throne that now sat outside the entrance. 

Octavia’s whispered threats as they’d walked up had kept Clarke from noticing the eyes on her now. It seemed like everyone was watching the girl that brought the mountain to its knees, and had been bestowed the title of Commander of Death.

She resisted the urge to knead at her palm to press away the cold ghost of metal pricking at it. She could feel the eyes on her back too, they were acting as a human shield in a way. 

Her throat was dry, and she could feel a cold sweat break out on her top lip. “Be calm,” she told herself. “Be Wanheda.” The Commander of Death didn’t fear the dead. She wasn’t afraid of the smell of wet rocks and dust that filled her nose. She welcomed it. So Clarke would too. She didn’t meet their curious glances. She kept her focus on the tent, waiting for her. 

Indra appeared at the entrance first, walking out and staring down the circle of ambassadors. Clarke looked back nochantly and thought she could almost see a hint of approval in the woman’s inscrutable gaze. Indra’s greeting was perfunctory, but made it’s point when the buzzing of conversation among the grounders fell silent so quickly Clarke thought even the insects had turned mute.

And then, she was there. 

At some of her very low points Clarke had wondered if she’d made up the Commander’s beauty, her grace, and her very dangerous nature. But in that moment, seeing her again she knew that nothing could be imagined when it came to Lexa. She was as amazing and as terrible in Clarke’s nightmares, as she was in real life. 

Lexa strode out, sweeping her gaze over her ambassadors and emissaries. The circle dropped to their knees in unison, Clarke and Kane joining, but Clarke made sure to wait for a moment longer than everyone else. They needed to notice. They needed to see Wanheda choosing to kneel. 

Lexa sat on her throne, lifting her hands up. “Welcome to this historic meeting of our peoples.” The delegations rose again, but stayed as silent as before. “I know you are all as eager as I am to maintain the hard won peace we have, and this summit stands to solidify our commitment to hold ALL twelve clans to those agreements, and celebrate the downfall of the Mountain Men.” There was a general murmur of assent rippling through the crowd. 

“However, there can be no peace while one of my clans believes they can march upon me now, in violation of what you’ve all sworn blood oath to protect,” she said. A dangerous smile sliding over her lips as the crowd shifted anxiously away from what Clarke assumed was the Azgeda contingency. She had purposefully ignored them, and continued to now. Wanheda would be above such things.

“But I don’t believe a troublesome Queen is any reason to put our current business on hold,” Lexa said, relaxing back into her throne. The tension loosened slightly, and small nervous sounds of laughter drifted about. 

“Now, as you’re obviously aware, Wanheda is with us today,” Lexa said, waving her hand in Kane and Clark’s direction. “You may know that Azgeda placed a bounty on her head, in a paltry excuse to challenge my authority, and the wisdom of the Commanders,” a low rumble drifted among the crowd. From the corner of her eye Clarke could see a small commotion begin at the Azgeda contingent. “But Azgeda will have their time to speak, and Wanheda to answer,” Lexa continued, her face a mask of boredom. “Now, I call us forward, not just to keep the peace between the 12 clans, but to add to its strength. I propose in front of the coalition, with the wisdom of the flame and the spirits of the Commanders that have come before, to invite Skaikru to become the 13th clan,” Lexa said.

The pause held for seconds before the crowd burst into angry yells. Clarke and Skaikru were suddenly treated to a host of murderous looks. Clarke couldn’t look away now. Her vision had narrowed until her world was only Lexa’s green eyes staring back at her, giving nothing away. She was vaguely aware of a growing roar in her ears. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

“Oh fuck,” she heard Bellamy breathe out behind her. 

This was not the plan. But then again, Clarke had never really expected Lexa to play fair. They had agreed that Wanheda would publicly show favor, they had not agreed to pull all of Arkadia into it. Clarke tried to quell the voice in her head saying, “Smart play.” 

“Silence!” Indra yelled stepping forward, hand on her sword hilt. Lexa waited until the cries of dissent were muted before beginning again, her voice no louder than before, but carrying through the crowd all the same.

“Deals with the devil rarely end well. I betrayed Skaikru to save your sons and daughters, knowing it would leave our enemy to rattle in its cage. But,” and now Lexa turned deliberately to look at Clarke, “Wanheda destroyed our enemy once and for all to save her people, and thus silenced the monster forever. As the 13th clan Skaikru will bring strength to our coalition...with Wanheda’s blessing.” 

Clarke lifted her head higher. It felt like Lexa was twisting a rope around her heart, tugging the slack tight until it would break right out of her ribs. She slowly stepped out of her place and into the center of the circle, walking forward until she stood directly in front of Lexa, several feet below the raised throne on the dias. The Commander calmly looked back as though she hadn’t just put a leash around her neck with Skaikru at one end, and a war on the other. 

Clarke cleared her throat, her mind racing to find the right words, the strategy that would help them out of a chess match she hadn’t expected to play. 

“Skaikru is honored to be recognized as worthy of the coalition’s protection and embrace,” Clarke said, in what she hoped was a clear and forceful voice. She stepped forward again, “and Wanheda is prepared to bow to the Commander’s power.” Clarke saw Lexa’s lips turn into a small smile of approval. “But,” Clarke continued and the smile twisted away, “I have no say in Skaikru becoming the 13th clan. That is not my decision to make.” 

Lexa narrowed her eyes, “As Commander, I give you the authority to agree to this proposal,” she said tightly. 

Clarke stepped forward until she could see Indra looking furiously at her from the corner of her eye, she took a deep breath. “With respect Commander, death does not have a say in this matter, the living will make this choice. Ambassador Kane, and Chancellor Griffin will agree, or not.” 

Time seemed to still and coil around her as Lexa looked on angrily. Clarke had never broken her focus from Lexa’s green eyes, so it was the look of alarm rising in them that was her first sign that something was wrong. 

The second was the cool metal sliding across her throat as her skin broke against the knife. 

She supposed the third sign was everything going black as the ground rushed to meet her. For a brief instant before she lost consciousness the irony swept her, someone really did slit her throat for Wanheda's power. 

God, sometimes the ground really sucked.


	6. Chapter 6

Waking up with a bump on her head, a pounding headache, and gouges of flesh stolen from her neck reminded Clarke that maybe she should start investing in armor. Her head wouldn’t be much use to Bellamy if it snapped right off her neck. 

Groaning, Clarke opened her eyes to see the red cloths of the Lexa’s tent above her. She sat up slowly, and found Lincoln suddenly near her side. He handed her a cup of water before she could even think to ask for one, and she blinked in what she hoped was a grateful manner. The rest of the wide tent was empty as Lincoln crouched down to her level, checking the deep cuts that now ran from her jaw line down to her collarbone before replacing the bandages. 

“Azgeda?” Clarke croaked out, wondering if there more assassins waiting to cash in on the bounty lurking beyond the tent cloths. 

A worried frown passed over Lincoln’s face. Before he could answer, the tent entrance was peeled back, and Lexa strode in with Bellamy, Kane, and Indra in quick procession. Perhaps startled that she was now awake, Lexa hung back as Bellamy walked over quickly to sit beside her, checking the same bandage Lincoln had just affixed. 

“Stop, Bell i’m fine,” Clarke managed to choke out, coughing a little and taking small sips of water, “just tell me what happened.”

“An Azgeda assassin,” Lexa spoke up before Bellamy could. “You can thank Queen Nia’s bounty for that. My guards made quick work of him.”

“I thought you said you could protect her here!” Kane said, stepping forward angrily. Indra must not have considered the man a threat as she rolled her eyes at his exasperations instead of running him through with the sword. 

“She’s alive is she not?” Lexa said, her sharp eyes running over Clarke, “and we can use this to our advantage. Prince Roan will have an easier time stirring up fear among the Azgeda ambassadors that Queen Nia’s army only marches them to Wanheda’s fury.”

Kane’s face went red. “Don’t think i’ve forgotten the part where you’re blackmailing us into your coalition.” 

“Your power rests with your camp, not with me,” Lexa said, her arms crossed in front of her, the red velvet cape draped back over her shoulder. “To have Wanheda, the figurehead of Skaikru, not part of the coalition is not possible.” 

Clarke shot a warning look to Kane, they hadn’t made it an hour into this whole thing and it was already falling apart. She stood up, shaking off Bellamy’s grasp on her hand. Wanheda couldn’t look weak in front of the Commander, but more importantly, Clarke couldn’t just give into Lexa, not again. 

“I came here, with a bounty on my head, because Indra said it was bow to you, or see Skaikru destroyed in a pointless war, over a stupid legend,” she said, walking the outline of the tent slowly to stop her legs from shaking. “Only to find out that kneeling to you also now includes potentially conscripting a bunch of engineers and scientists into a war whenever you superstitious idiots gets a little claustrophobic at the borders. 

“Clarke,” Lexa began, her eyebrows pulled together in confusion, “I understand that you’re angry I sprung this on you, but this is for the best, your people will understand,” Lexa said patiently.

“I understand that you betrayed me again!” Clarke yelled, wincing back as the pressure in her head built. Lexa’s face turned to stone. 

“Commander,” Indra seethed walking forward. 

“Stop,” Lexa said, raising a hand, “leave us.”

Clarke could hear Bellamy scoff beside her and lean back against the tent wall. “No way,” he said.

Lexa didn’t afford him a glance, continuing to stare at Clarke. “It was a mistake to not speak alone earlier. Too much rests on your actions to let emotion get in the way,” she said, then softening slightly, “Please, Clarke.”

Clarke put two fingers on either side of the bridge of her nose, both to relieve the pain that thudded dully in the back of her skull, and to give herself a moment to think. In a way, she knew Lexa was right, Clarke felt too much when it came to her. If there was any chance for this to work they needed to find a way forward without Clarke wanting to put her face through a wall every time the mention of Lexa came up.

She turned back and looked at Bellamy, “go ahead, i’ll be fine,” she said, ignoring the anger that spiked across his face. She turned away so she wouldn’t lose her nerve. “If Lexa was going to kill me for my power she’d have done it while I was unconscious.” The comment had its intended effect as Lincoln, Bellamy, Indra, and Lincoln cleared out, and Lexa’s expression settled back into something more familiar to the woman Clarke had known in the quiet spaces between battles. 

Clarke walked back over to the piles of fur, sitting down carefully to avoid moving her neck too much. She needed the time to compose herself, she couldn’t act as though Lexa still held all the leverage. Clarke had her own pieces to play this time, and the Commander would listen. 

Clarke stretched her legs out in front of her, then surprising herself, patted the empty space next to her where Bellamy had been only moments ago. “Sit, I don’t want to have to talk to you all the way over there.” Lexa lifted an eyebrow in surprise but didn’t comment.

As graceful as ever, she came over and sat beside her. Clarke tried not to fidget with her hands at the nearness, the memories of lips and battle plans flitting across her memory. 

“You look better,” Lexa said, haltingly, “I mean, you look good. Indra had implied you were ill for a time.”

Clarke let the compliment go unanswered for a moment, “Indra was being kind,” she said finally. 

“I wish you wouldn’t torment yourself Clarke. You shouldn’t regret saving your people,” she said softly. 

“Even if it turns you into someone you don’t recognize?” Clarke asked.

Lexa sighed, “Clarke, the children of the mountain died because their leader was weak, not because you are strong.”

“Those kids died because you left me at that door,” Clarke spat out, she grabbing Lexa’s chin and turned it toward her, forcing the woman to look at her, “tell me you regret that at least.”

Lexa’s eyes widened, “I do, more than you can ever know,” she said.

“But you’d do it again?” Clarke asked.

Lexa couldn’t nod yes or no when Clarke’s hand on her chin, but held her expression and said, “every time.”

Clarke dropped her hand from Lexa’s face. “Then why don’t you kill me?” She asked, and it scared her how much it sounded like a plea. “Wouldn’t it be so much easier for you? So much simpler than this game?”

Lexa’s head shot up, eyes wide, “stop doing that.”

“What?” Clarke asked bewildered at her reaction. 

Lexa shook her head in dismay, “you really can’t see past the end of your own damn nose.”

“Excuse me?” Clarke asked, if she wasn’t more confused by Lexa’s response she’d have been angry at the insult. 

“You know, Clarke, when the legend of Wanheda first reach Polis every Commander in my head advised me to kill you. Every single one,” Lexa said, standing up now to pace in front of her. The grooves in the carpets seemed to have seen this before.

“I’m still confused on how i’m the idiot in this scenario,” Clarke responded sullenly. 

“Because Commander’s die Clarke. Badly. Viciously,” Lexa said, her eyes narrowed but alight with a fervor. “They were short-sighted, just like you’re being. They made the play that won today, instead of all the tomorrows.”

“And what, killing me is the short game, and you’re playing the long one?” Clarke asked 

Lexa smiled, “No other Commander has managed to unite the clans as i’ve done. As this peace summit serves to do.”

Clarke sighed, leaning back in defeat against the tent. “Well, great.” Clarke said, “that doesn’t solve the fact that you lied to us about the terms of this. Skaikru didn’t sign up to be the 13th clan. They don’t want to fight your battles, i’m supposed to be the pawn in this, not them.”

Lexa shrugged, “it’s time for Skaikru to fight for their place in this world as you have fought for them. Otherwise, they are not worthy of you Wanheda.”

Clarke stared at her hands for a moment. “Are you worthy of me?” she asked 

Lexa paused in her paces, staring hard at Clarke, “if you saw the alternative, you’d agree.”

“But I haven’t,” she said worry dripping down her back. “I haven’t seen the alternative, and you think i’m not scared enough. So you wanted insurance that i’d stick to the script.” 

“I said my predecessors were shortsighted. I didn’t say they had nothing of value to add to the conversation.” Lexa replied sourly. “But now I see it’s not enough, I suppose that’s my own doing. I’ve lost your trust, and now I have to find a different way.”

“What does that mean?” Clarke asked

“Clarke, you need to go to Azgeda,” Lexa said.

Clarke had to have misheard her, go to the stronghold of the woman that had put a bounty on her head? “Run that one by me again?” She asked. 

“I underestimated you once,” Lexa said simply, “but I’ve seen that when your people are on the line, you can move mountains. Bring the peace treaty to her in person. Show her how unafraid you are of her, how strongly you believe in my right to be Commander.”

“Excellent,” Clarke said nodding, staring up at the apex of the tent for a moment. Had this once been part of a circus? How fitting. “Why do you think that will work?” Clarke asked curiously. “Won’t she just kill me once I get there?” Clarke asked.

Lexa looked down at the ground, and sighed, “Clarke, requiring Skaikru to join the coalition wasn't the only lie. The Azgeda bounty on your head wasn’t to kill. It was to capture.”

Clarke’s stomach swooped down like it used to on the Ark when the gravity plates messed up. “So the man that tried to slit my throat was just an over enthusiastic kidnapper?” Clarke said coldly.

Lexa lifted her chin, “Months ago Queen Nia made the stipulation that she wouldn’t sign the peace treaty unless the documents were delivered by Wanheda, in person. But I knew you weren’t ready. Then, she placed the bounty on your head to get you to her.”

“So not only did you lie to me, and Skaikru to get me here. You had someone pretend to kill me, and claim it was Azgeda so the clans would be more afraid to join the one that had moved against you,” Clarke said slowly, her mouth going dry in horror. The 100 may think Clarke was ruthless to protect them, but they had nothing on Lexa.

“Politics is theatre,” Lexa said shrugging. “There is so much you don't understand about our ways Clarke, this was the surest way forward, I was going to let the man live, but then he got a little...over enthusiastic with the sell," she said darkly.

Clarke looked away, the hurt almost too much. “What’s the motivation Lexa,” Clarke said, trying to keep the waver from her voice. “Was any of what Indra told us true?”

“Of course Clarke, Nia did put a bounty on your head, she is using your legend against me," Lexa said earnestly. "For Nia, it always was, and always will be about the flame. There’s a nightblood in her care that was cast out of my conclave before she could fight for her place. Nia holds it against me, and the coalition. She wants to use your supposed hatred of me to get Wanheda on her side, and sway other clans to break the coalition as well. To destroy a peace I have given everything to create.”

“Was the peace summit a lie too?” Clarke asked. 

“No,” Lexa said shaking her head sharply. This summit was necessary. The peace accords need to be signed by the rest of the clans, and I needed you to be willing to put Skaikru in the coalition as a show of good faith, in me.

“So you thought springing this on me was the smart play Commander? For all your talk of putting faith in you, you give surprisingly little back,” Clarke said, crossing her arms around her stomach.

Lexa rolled her eyes, “I was hoping that away from Kane and the Chancellor, the proposal to make Skaikru the 13th clan would carry more weight.”

“Oh Lexa,” Clarke sighed, “the grounders may be intimidated by me, but Abby Griffin is not.”

Lexa opened her mouth, seemed to reconsider and then said softly, “I’m sorry to ask this of you, but I need Azgeda to stand down. Nia is obsessed with the lore, the specter of Wanheda showing allegiance to me may be the only thing that will dissuade her. Their people make up too much of the coalition’s best fighters, if this turns into a battle, we are all at great risk. 

Clarke felt like she was falling back into an open chasm. Once again, she’d trusted Lexa. Once again it now put her people in peril. But yet, it was Lexa’s hand on her shoulder that stopped the live wires inside her from sparking. She turned, and they were so close, so close to what they had been. 

“Lexa, I can’t do this again, when will I be done being this person?” Clarke asked, her head hanging down, tears making the green of Lexa's eyes swim in her vision.

“Clarke,” Lexa whispered stepping in closer to her, “people like us rest, when peace is found. That’s why you’ll go to Azgeda and show Nia where Wanheda’s loyalties lie. Why you’ll find a way to get Azgeda to sign that peace treaty. Why you’ll agree tomorrow to make Skaikru the 13th clan. I’m so sorry I left you at that door. But don’t you see? This time I’m giving you a key.”

***

The walk back to her camp could only have been a quarter mile from Lexa’s tent, but it felt like ten. Night had fallen between the time of the attack, and her conversation with Lexa, and the path back to Skaikru’s section of the valley was lined with torches that flickered in the light breeze. She noticed that conversations ceased as she walked past tents and campfires, but she didn’t stop to look around her, she just kept going, even when Bellamy stepped out of the shadows to begin walking by her side.

They didn’t speak for a few minutes, Clarke taking deep breaths of the cool air, letting it settle around her tender neck. 

“So, how many ways are we royally screwed?” he asked finally

“I would say more than the usual amount,” Clarke said, not caring to mask the wobble in her voice. 

“Kane is going to lose his mind,” Bellamy said, pushing his hands through the mess dark curls. “Staying out of the coalition was a non-negotiable and it only took us ten minutes to blow that all to hell.”

“He’s just afraid of my mother,” Clarke said.

“I have to say, the Griffin women have a way of striking fear into the hearts of their lowly second hands,” Bellamy said. She stopped walking before they reached the quiet voices of their friends. 

“Why are you being like this?” she asked

“Like what?”

Clarke put her hands on her hips, “You don’t know what I just agreed to do.”

“Don’t I?” he asked, hands in his pockets. 

Clarke narrowed her eyes, “Indra,” she said. The word came out more of a curse, that a name. 

“I think she actually feels a bit guilty about that kill order on Lincoln’s life,” he said. “But also, i’m pretty sure she knew she could spill the beans once Lexa sent us out of the tent.”

Clarke sighed, “please tell me we’re not all road-tripping north to meet a fanatical Queen.”

Bellamy held her gaze, “okay.”

“Fuck,” Clarke said, stopping in the dewey grass. 

“Clarke, come on, I think we all knew she was going to pull something, and to be honest I think Abby and Kane were being unrealistic about keeping Arkadia out of the coalition.” 

“That’s very...reasonable of you Bellamy,” Clarke said suspiciously.

“Hey, i’m a very reasonable person Clarke,” he said. 

She shot him a look, “tell that to the guy that considered letting me plunge into a grounder trap for the sake of a wrist tracker.”

“You’re right, my growth has really been remarkable,” he replied with a grin.

“So you’re okay with what happened today?” She asked. 

“No,” he said, his face turning dark, “i’ll never be okay with the way she uses you, but, I think our end goals are the same.”

“Odd,” Clarke said.

“What is?” he asked.

“Both you and Lexa, talking about long-term strategy. It’s just strange to feel like i’m having the same conversation in one day...one very long and strange day.”

Bellamy looked thoughtful, “at least we can count on the ground to always surprise us.”

“So, i’m assuming you guys already have a plan that will place you all in mortal peril once again?” She asked, the torches throwing off flickering shadows on Bellamy’s half smile. 

“Yup, they’re all waiting for you in Harper and Monty’s tent,” Bellamy said, “they want to help, this affects them too Clarke, it affects all of us. We came here to protect our people, that doesn't change just because the journey continues.”

Clarke looked at the trodden down grass, the cold air was seeping past her jacket and there was a dull throb in her head that never seemed to go away. But Bellamy was standing there in front of her, asking her to step into the chaos again. 

“Okay, i’ll be there in a minute,” she said finally. 

“Great,” Bellamy said, “oh and Clarke?” he said turning around, walking backwards away from her up the path. 

Clarke sighed, “what’s the catch?”

“Prince Roan of Azgeda is going to be there too,” he said, turning back around and picking up his pace before she could say anything else.


	7. Chapter 7

Clarke’s tall boots crunched as she walked along the frosted grass toward Monty and Harper’s tent. The moon was barely visible in the sky, just the narrowest sliver of brightness among the cold stars. Sometimes she couldn’t quite believe she had grown up among them. It hadn’t even been a year on the ground, but it felt as though she had walked upon it for decades.

Lincoln’s quiet frame stood outside the tent, “Clarke,” he said, “how are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better,” Clarke said. 

Lincoln nodded, laying a hand on her shoulder, weighing her down for a moment before she stepped into the warmth and noise..

She caught Octavia’s narrowed green eyes, her mouth more snarl and smile. Harper’s kind face, Monty’s quiet, guarded expression. 

“What’s up Wanheda?” Murphy called from the back of the tent. 

“Shut up Murphy,” Bellamy said from the other side. 

There was a mountain of a man glowering in the corner. His heavy brow and scarred face marked him as Azgeda, the particular set of cuts that lined his eyes showed him as royalty. Prince Roan, sitting in a little Skaikru tent. Clarke ignored him. 

“Fine, what’s up Princess,” Murphy shot back. He patted absently the empty crate next to him and Clarke walked over there, staring at the ground instead of the delinquents.

“Great,” Bellamy said as she got settled, then stood up to command the room. “So, long story short, Lexa lied to us, and because Clarke wasn’t overjoyed to have Skaikru join the coalition, we now need to visit Azgeda in person to deliver the peace treaty to avoid a messy war. Did I miss anything?” He asked, glancing Clarke’s direction. 

“You forgot the part where everyone wants to kill Clarke,” Octavia supplied helpfully. Clarke couldn’t help herself, she snorted. It was a pretty ridiculous situation, despite all the far fetched scenarios the group had found themselves in. 

“It’s a great club Clarke, next they’ll string you up by your neck,” Murphy said loudly, swinging an arm around Clarke’s shoulders. Clarke let herself get pulled toward him, giving a quick glance up to Bellamy. 

His head hung down, hands on his hips. “You finished?” He asked. 

“Not quite,” he said turning toward Clarke now, eyes wide in mock sincerity. “You should have just joined Jaha and wandered off into the desert. He tried to convince me to come with while you were all plotting to melt people. Would have saved you all this drama...they’d all be dead and you’d be stuck in a menage a trois with me and the mechanic -”

“Mur-,” Bellamy said taking a few strides toward them and Clarke debated if she should make a quick escape by rolling underneath the tent before Raven’s voice cut through.

“Can we please, not do this right now,” Raven said, “Murphy, be helpful or leave. You make my life hard enough, right?” She fixed Murphy with a stare so full of derision Clarke wondered if some of it was reserved for her. Murphy stiffened, but kept his arm around her. Raven was the only one that could really cow him. 

“I’d like to hear the plan,” Clarke spoke up softly, looking to Bellamy now. 

“Yay,” Bellamy said flatly, “like I was saying, Lexa is sending Clarke to Azgeda to convince their Queen to sign the Peace Treaty. She’s blackmailing us into the coalition, saying that if Queen Nia wages war, Skaikru will be in its path.”

“And we don’t think aligning with Queen Nia would be a better solution?” Miller asked, glancing over to Roan's still form. 

“No, Indra and Nyko filled me in on the Azgeda culture back in Arkadia. They’re pretty ruthless, she said they make her warriors look like, it was some old-age word, hippies I think she said,” Bellamy said.

“It’s true,” Lincoln spoke up. “Azgeda has always been renowned for their harsh ways. Queen Nia adheres closely to the legend of the flame.”

She could hear Murphy whisper in her ear “Princess, that’s the most tall, dark, and grounder has ever spoken.” 

Bellamy frowned at her as she tried to hide her laugh off as a cough. “You could be a little more concerned about this Clarke.” 

“Sorry,” She said, sitting up straighter and clasping her hands in front of her. “So, what happens if I don’t get Queen Nia to sign the Peace Treaty?"

“I think, Wanheda, that’s where I come into this story,” Prince Roan stood up in from his corner, silent until now. 

Clarke appraised the Prince, “I heard you were banished?”

“I heard you were a deity” He replied, the corners of his mother turning up slightly, “I just see a scared little girl.” 

“That’s what I keep telling people,” Clarke said, leaning in slightly as Murphy’s fingers tightened on her arm. “They just don’t like to listen, and now i’m suppose to convince your mother. Think I stand a chance Prince?”

Roan raised an eyebrow at her, a frown deepening on his face. Clarke shifted her focus to Bellamy who was standing with his arms crossed, eyes darting between them.

Monty groaned, pushing his hands over his face, “this is worse than dealing with Jasper,” he muttered behind his palms.

“It’s true,” Roan interrupted, “I haven’t been home in many years, but as the Commander told you Wanheda, and as Indra told your Skaikru, my mother is a fanatic of the flame. The legend of your power runs deeply in Azgeda, I believe you do have a chance of ending this without bloodshed.”

“A chance?” Harper said, “we’re going to Azgeda just for a chance to not die?”

“Which, is why you all shouldn’t be going,” Clarke said softly, “that way when I don’t pull it off, you don’t all die.”

“Clarke,” Bellamy said sharply, “you don’t get to tell us what we can and can’t do to save our home.”

“Your Bellamy is right Wanheda,” Roan said ignoring the snickering coming Miller and Raven. “Bringing the children that survived the Mountain with you will make it a uniting force. It will be seen not just by the Queen, but by her ambassadors as a show of strength. And if there’s one thing Azgeda responds to, it’s strength.”

Clarke looked around the crowded tent. All their faces staring at her. She looked back at Roan. “Why are you here Roan?” 

“To keep the peace Wanheda,” he answered quickly, “I’ve been in Polis a long time, though it was not always by choice, and I see the logic to Lexa’s rule. I want only to get you there safely, and to get the treaty signed.”

“And if it ends with the Queen dying, you with becoming King, you wouldn't hate that would you?” She asked, never looking away from Roan’s face. To his credit, nothing flickered across it. 

“You’re the Commander of Death,” Roan said slowly, “why don’t you let me know how it will end when the times comes?” 

Clarke’s hands felt hot, she pulled away from Murphy’s arm and got up nervously. She looked over at Bellamy, his face was flushed with anger at Roan’s comment. “Where’d you find this guy?” She asked jerking her head in Roan’s direction. He merely rolled his eyes in response.

“Nyko vouched for him,” he said defensively.

“Nyko thought CPR was magic,” she shot back.

“Look, it's not perfect, but as far as I can see this plan is one with the highest likelihood of you not ending up dead and war not on our people’s doorstep.”

“And what did Abby think?” she shot back. 

“Abby said we’re all idiots and then I pretended the radio went to static,” he said uncomfortably. 

Clarke snorted in frustration, moving dirt around with the toe of her foot, and glancing around the tent. Raven, Miller, Monty and Harper on one end. Octavia, Lincoln, herself, and Murphy at the other. Bellamy standing above them all, dark curls casting wild shadows against the fabric. Roan looking bored in the center. Jasper must be off wandering while Kane talked Abby down.

“Well,” Clarke said, wiping her dirty hands on her already dirty jumpsuit. “I guess since we haven’t considered genocide during this plan yet, we’re still coming out ahead.”

If looks could kill, Bellamy Blake would have just about ended the mighty Wanheda. 

***  
The morning dawned cold and rainy as Clarke’s hair frizzed in the wet air. Raven and Octavia practiced drills in an open space near them, Lincoln helping to adjust Raven’s stance to accommodate her weak hip. Miller and Harper had set up a target range near the back, practicing long-range shots with pellets to conserve their bullet stock. Jasper sat in near shock at the road ahead, glancing nervously into the trees as though Azgeda soldiers would simply materialize out of thin air. 

As for Clarke, she was sitting in her tent, staring at a map of the route they would take to Azgeda. Indra had delivered it to her this morning, a flicker of shame barely noticeable. Clarke thought she only felt bad about misleading Abby, but oddly Clarke couldn’t find it in her to be angry. Indra had never mislead Clarke about where her loyalties lay. 

“Any words of advice?” Clarke asked.

“Be wary of Prince Roan,” she said, after a moment of consideration.

“Any advice that I don’t know yet?” Clarke asked.

“Yes, stop moping in here and learn how to fight. The Azgedan’s value a sword much more than a mind.” She lifted an eyebrow to the sounds of Octavia and Lincoln’s drills in the yard near them. 

Clarke pursed her lips, “i’ll get right on that Indra.”

Their little group walked down together again, just like yesterday. It seemed that Spring was holding off for now, and it would only get colder the further north they traveled. Clarke couldn’t help but think the weather was a signal for what was to come. Some kind of dreary march into the unknown. 

When they reached the dais and formed the semi circle once again, Clarke matched eyes with the Azgeda contingent she had studiously dismissed the day before. They stood out among the crowd with streaks of white paint and scars scattered among their faces and hands. Standing tall among the rest was Roan, his long hair drawn back this morning, a sword on his back and knives sheathed all along his heavy coat. Beside him a woman with envious cheekbones looked passively around the crowd. She wore no visible armor or weapons, but while everyone stared at Clarke, she seemed to make sure she stared everywhere but at her. 

The prince and the spy, Clarke thought. They were to be their travel companions on the long road North.

It didn’t take long to sell Arkadia out. As soon as Lexa took her place on the throne Clarke walked over, completing the motions Indra had talked her through as she signed her name to a piece of parchment. She’d made a point of not talking to her Mother when Kane had walked over with the radio, a beseeching look in his eyes. For all her talk of wanting Clarke to be happy, this was apparently not on the “be happy Clarke” approved list.

There were less than rousing cheers as Lexa declared the coalition now one made up of 13 clans. “Well i’m not particularly thrilled about it either,” she thought sourly as she looked out at the faces of the grounders in front of her. They quieted though as Lexa stood, walking to the middle of her ambassadors, Clarke a pace behind.

“It is done,” she said. “But while one problem has been solved, another creeps ever closer.” She turned slowly, rotating until she reached the Azgedans. Clarke sighed inwardly, knowing this was part of the show as well. Lexa had approved of the plan to release Prince Roan from his duties in Polis to guide Skaikru to Azgeda. But had insisted on one last spectacle, for any clans’ ambassadors debating which side of the line their clans loyalties would fall. 

“Prince Roan of Azgeda, what do you have to say for yourself, and your Queen?” Lexa said, hand steady on the sword hilt. 

Roan stepped out, a swagger to his steps that belied the angry woman he approached. 

“My Commander,” he began, “Wanheda,” he added, finding Clarke’s eyes and nodding to her as well, a smirk dancing over his face. “I cannot express enough my dismay that a wayward soul thought to harm Wanheda, especially after she’s displayed such...favor to you.”

Clarke’s initially thought she should just go on looking bored, above it all, but his little aside flared the anger in her heart that she tenderly cared for. “What are you going to do about it, Roan?” Clarke asked, dropping the title from his name. She enjoyed the look of annoyance that came over him at the slight. She especially enjoyed the angry start the woman next to him gave.

He smiled tightly. “I meant no disrespect, i’m honored to bring you to Azgeda to completed the peace treaty, and show Queen Nia how loyal Wanheda is to her Commander, and how much they value Azgeda's part in the coalition. I ask only that you do not let the actions of one, set your eyes on crushing Azgeda like you did the mountain, we know innocents do not sway your hand.”

Clarke sucked in a breath and tried to shake out her hand. She opened her mouth to reply but caught Bellamy’s eye, he shook his head slowly. 

“Large words from a banished Prince,” Lexa said flatly, saving Clarke from having to defend, or celebrate her actions, “you’ve not been back to your homeland in many years, your mother’s army marches forward but does not consult you. How certain are you that you’ll be welcomed?” 

“Oh, not certain at all,” Roan said, smiling despite the obvious dislike surrounding him, “but given my travel companions are so pretty, I would say it’s worth the risk.”

Clarke knew the violent look in Lexa’s eyes was not merely for show. She had her blade resting against his throat before Clarke had even noticed her reaching for it. The spy had only moved her weight to the balls of her feet, assessing the options in front of her.

“Prince Roan,” Lexa snarled, “I would hope that your decade in Polis would have taught you better manners, but to make sure we are clear let me reiterate, in front of the ambassadors where we stand.” Lexa took a small step forward pressing the blade into the same spot on his neck that Clarke now sported scrapes. “Your mother sends her armies forward because she doesn't believe I hold the Wanheda’s trust. She is wrong. She believes her natblida should be in control. She is wrong. She believes the winds of war favor her. And she is wrong,” Lexa said, her hand steady on the sword, a few drops of red showing near the Roan’s throat. He wisely chose to stay silent. Lexa brought the sword back from his neck and the tension in the crowd almost visibly peeled back.

The Prince took a deep breath, and bowed his head. “Yes, Commander,” he said.

Lexa nodded along, as though she was considering his acquiescence. But Clarke knew she was really assessing the looks on the rest of the faces of the contingent, measuring fear. Lexa turned finally to look at her.

“Wanheda,” she began, “Will you treat with Queen Nia, and help her,” she tilted her head considering her words, “see reason, and accept the terms of peace?”

Clarke looked up at her, Lexa’s steady gaze filled with promises that Clarke could never trust her to keep. “If peace is at the end of this road, then i’m happy to go where you send me.” 

Lexa grinned, and then so softly that only Clarke could hear her above the steady patter of rain on soil she said, “well done, Commander of Death.”


	8. Chapter 8

Afterwards, it was rather amazing how fast the summit dispersed. Lexa finished up private meetings with each of the clans apart from Azgeda, gaining their signatures on the peace documents in turn, detailing terms of trade, warriors to be sent for training at Polis, and settling disputes that could not be rectified by clan counsel. 

Clarke hung around awkwardly at first before Lexa dismissed her with a wave of her hand. Since they hadn’t prepared for a longer journey than to the peace summit and back, Lexa ordered that rations, warmer clothes, and seals of travel be distributed among them. 

Before she knew it, she was back astride her horse, in the middle of a valley, staring down a rather unconcerned looking Roan and Echo, the placid faced spy. She looked over at Indra, who had stayed behind to make sure they set off without issue.

“So...here we go,” Clarke said.

“Yes.” 

“Any last words?”

“Remember when I told you to learn how to fight?”

Clarke sighed, “yes.” 

“Advice still stands,” she said. 

Bellamy came up to her side on horseback as well, “are you ready?” He asked

Clarke nodded her head, “Echo was at Mount Weather with you wasn’t she?” 

“Yeah, she was brave, smart,” Bellamy said, “I think it’s good she’s coming with us.”

“She’s the Queen’s spy,” Clarke said uneasily, “what if she’s on her side more than Lexa’s?”

Bellamy turned his head, “I think the mountain changed a lot of perspectives on loyalty Clarke.”

“Well, good,” Clarke said feeling uneasy and trying to figure out if it was because she was being asked to trust a spy, or because Bellamy had described her with words he had once used to reference Clarke.

“Skaikru, Wanheda,” Roan called out, a broad smile on his face, “are we all ready for the journey North?”

“Yup,” Clarke said, “can I introduce you two to everyone, officially?” 

Roan nodded his assent and Clarke waved to Octavia, Lincoln and Bellamy, astride their own horses. She pointed out Raven, Murphy, Monty, Miller, Jasper, and Harper as they stood by the Rover’s doors. Kane was astride his own horse, handing Jasper a small pack. Kane was leaving to go back to Arkadia, Clarke did not envy him the anger that would greet him at the gates.

She wasn’t sure how Jasper had managed to convince Kane that he should come along for the ride North. Sure, he’d been making an effort with Monty, as Clarke had told Kane he should. But she still didn’t like the look in his eyes when she caught him staring at her. But it was low on the long list of worries she had. 

“So, isn’t this an interesting turn of events?” Roan asked jovially, “just a few days ago you were outrunning a bounty on your head to bring you to Azgeda. Now its Prince escorts you willingly.”

“Yes,” Clarke said, “life’s funny that way.” She hoped the days it would take to get to Azgeda would help her puzzle out this man.

Roan smiled, “no time like the present,” he said, before turning his horse around and setting off at a steady clip, Echo by his side. 

Clarke looked back one more time at Kane and Indra as Raven started up the Rover’s engine. May we meet again, she whispered. She could see Kane’s mouth moving with the familiar words, before turning towards Arkadia and disappearing in the distance. 

She hurried up her own mount to get in front of the dust the Rover was able to kick up despite the slick ground. She looked up ahead and only saw storm clouds.

***  
Bellamy hadn’t been that concerned about the ten day trip up to Azgeda. He liked the open air, and growing up in space had made most of Skaikru fairly normalized to cooler temps. But, he’d never realized what weather could do to cold. 

The wind whipped across his face, until his nose ran and his lips were chapped. They’d wake up in the morning with frost on their blankets and chunks of ice in their canteens. Their rations were either soggy from the ice that melted on them or hard from being frozen. Murphy seemed incapable of shutting his mouth, and even Lincoln’s unnaturally calm exterior showed signs of cracking when the litany of complaints and sarcastic jabs reached his ears. 

He tried to tell himself his foul mood was just the result of dealing with all these inconveniences. But in reality, it was probably more Roan’s apparent imperviousness to the cold, his habit of swinging cloaks of heavy furs out from seemingly nowhere, to settle around Clarke’s shivering frame, and his easy laugh, which seemed to make everyone else laugh too. 

They’d been traveling for three days like this. Roan regaling them with stories of growing up in Azgeda court, a particularly shocking one involving his first beheading, and then bedding all in one evening. Even Raven Reyes had the capacity to blush at the description and he’d known her to speak a litany of stories so filthy that even Murphy had once had to walk away, hands over his ears. 

He’d been trying to get everyone to rotate into the Rover every so often, to take a break from the constant wind, or at least get Clarke to take a break from leaning her head toward Roan and asking him question after question about Polis, and Azgeda, and why this, and what happened to that, and did you know... 

After the first day of tense back and forth the two had found something in common, they’d both been trained in healing. Clarke as a young medic on the ark, Roan with secret trips to the Azgeda healer. It was one of the reasons he’d been banished, Nia thought he was too soft to lead, not focused enough on cutting down his opponent. He’d no idea she could hold a conversation so long without it ending in a fight. Maybe because they were always getting interrupted, and rushing off to a fight. 

On the fourth day he’d finally become so annoyed by himself that he got up the courage to bring his horse in line with Echo’s. They rode along in silence for awhile, the spy’s cautious eyes always returning to the Prince as she watched the tree line. Her hair was up, tied back with braids, her dark brown eyes calm, her back straight. The woman he’d met in the cage had been just as intense, but the spy who rode next him was dangerous in a very quiet and unsettling way. 

“Something on your mind?” She asked softly. Bellamy turned to look at her, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze, instead staring straight ahead, eyes flicking back and forth as they followed the uneven trail.

“Haven’t seen you since the mountain, wanted to thank you for what you did,” he said.

“All I did was lead some children out a door. You and your Wanheda made it possible,” she replied evenly. 

Bellamy wasn’t sure where to go from here, but he was bored, and annoyed, so the next words out of his mouth did him no favors, “so, Kane tells us you’re a spy.”

Echo smiled thinly, “I have not been back to Azgeda for a long time, but i’ve tried to always serve faithfully.”

“Did Queen Nia ask you to go after the bounty on Clarke’s head?” He asked, the question had been bouncing around in his head since he caught sight of her at the summit. 

“Now that you know it was to capture, and not kill, would you be angry if I said yes?” she asked softly.

Bellamy looked at her, “yeah, Echo, that still falls under that list of things I wouldn’t be happy about.”

Echo smirked, “Taken there against her will by me, or riding side-by-side on Lexa’s orders. It’s the same result is it not? As far as I can tell, both Queen and Commander have gotten what they wanted so far,” Echo said.

Bellamy sighed, “yeah, i’m not very happy about that either,” he said. He could see Roan glancing over to them now and again at the front of their group. Clarke had fallen back and was talking quietly with Raven.

Echo broke the silence, “you went into the mountain on her orders?” she asked tilting her head toward Clarke slightly. 

“I went into the mountain because that’s what needed to happen,” Bellamy said, annoyed at the implication, “and Clarke agreed. What happened there we did together.”

Echo nodded, “yet it is Clarke that they call Wanheda, and you yourself call her Princess” she said. Bellamy felt his hands tighten around the reigns. “She is the one that will face Queen Nia and her Nightblood Ontari. The weight rests on her, but not you.” 

“She’s not facing anyone alone,” Bellamy bit out. “I’m here. Her friends are beside her.”

Echo was looking at him now, her face inscrutable. “Those that lead are always alone Bellamy, despite the ones that stand next to them.”

Bellamy shot her a glare, “she didn’t ask for any of this Echo.”

Echo stilled her horse, leading Bellamy to stop next to her. She met his eyes and he felt like she was trying to say more that the words that fell from her lips. “Those that aren’t attracted to the power, are usually the best to wield it. Unfortunately, those are the same ones that are often crushed beneath it.” Before Bellamy could even begin to ask on which side Queen Nia fell, Echo  
nodded her head in a goodbye, urged her horse ahead, an arrow already notched in her bow. 

Echo’s words bounced around in his head, and he couldn’t help himself, he looked back over at Clarke. Whatever she and Raven had been discussing, they were done now, and she rode at a slow pace, the reigns slack around one arm. 

He thought she seemed peaceful, the weather had stilled, and strands of fading violet rested against her cheeks. But the color matched the bruises beneath her eyes, deep circles that seemed to get darker as they traveled. 

He knew why. He was the one that laid down next to her, night after night, inching his sleeping bag closer to hers every time. Hoping proximity would keep the nightmares at bay for a little longer. She would stare up at the stars though until he couldn’t keep his own eyes open, until the screams that ripped from her woke him as well. Had he urged her into this too much? In an effort to shake her out of the isolation she had created for herself, had he instead placed yet another burden on her shoulders she could take?

He was so caught up in his own dark thoughts that he never saw the arrows that started to fall from the sky until it was too late, until Octavia’s screams filled the air and he felt the piercing stab in his back.


	9. Chapter 9

He’d fallen off his horse and narrowly avoided getting trampled by another as he rolled off the trail and into the trees, adrenaline coursing through him as he crouched low in the grass and mud, trying to see through the chaos and screams. 

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder and he kicked out, sweeping the legs of his attacker only to find Murphy collapsing on his right side. 

“Woah man, I know we hung each other but take it down a notch,” Murphy said, his sarcastic tone covering for the rifle he was already bringing up as he glanced over at Bellamy. “By the way, there’s an arrow in your back.”

“I can’t feel it,” Bellamy said nervously, “Did you see where everyone else went?”

“I was walking by the Rover when it started, everyone in there is fine, Raven hit reverse and skedaddled back down the path. No grounder arrow is gonna pierce that thing.”

“What about-” Bellamy started to ask, but at least part of his question was answered by a whoop and war cry as Octavia and Lincoln came into view, back to back as grounders launched themselves at them. 

“Murphy, cover me,” he shouted, ignoring the tearing feeling in his back as he launched himself up and over the ridge that had hidden them from view. He could hear shots dot the dirt to his right, taking out one attacker that had gone for his side, and he sent a silent thanks to whatever strange friendship he and Murphy had forged as he sunk his broad knife into the side of the grounder that was in arms length of O as she slit the throat of the one in front of her. 

O shot him a daring smile, and turned to join Lincoln to face the three that approached them from their the end of the trail. 

Octavia and Lincoln together could more than handle three, so Bellamy turned to the north side, searching for blonde hair. Movement to his right brought him up short as Murphy was lead onto the trail, a dark cut down his face and a grounder’s knife to his throat. The grounder was yelling at him in Trig. Bellamy was shit at their language but assumed that the request was to drop the gun or Murphy would drop his head.

The grounder pressed the knife in harder and Murphy grimaced, “okay, okay,” Bellamy said, slowly lowering it down, but before he set it onto the mud a shot rang out, and the grounder’s face exploded, sending Murphy into the mud with a yelp, bits of brain and skull coming after. When the smoke cleared Clarke was striding out of the trees, her hand was bloody and she was covered in mud but otherwise looked unharmed. 

She rushed over to Bellamy, an eye on Lincoln and Octavia as the later finished sliding a sword through their last foe as Lincoln grasped the man’s arms behind him. Breathing heavily she knelt down to help Murphy up. Bellamy stayed standing, his gun once more in his hands as he circled their small group, scanning the tree line. 

“Sorry about the close shot,” she muttered to Murphy.

The boy groaned, “I think you shot my ear off Griffin.”

“I did not,” she retorted, “you’ll be fine, a little ringing is a good sign.”

“What!” He yelled back.

“Shut up Murphy,” the group said in unison now. Octavia and Lincoln had walked over as the cries of the grounders had faded to shouts in the woods. 

“Big Brother, did you know there’s an arrow in your back?” Octavia asked.

“Thanks O, i’ve been informed,” Bellamy said as Clark whipped her head around in concern. He tried not to feel something smug about that. It didn’t last too long. 

“Where’d Roan and Echo go?” She asked, “did anyone see?”

“They went after two Azgedan’s,” Lincoln said, “on the left into the trees.” They all turned to look in the direction he motioned toward. 

“They were Azgeda?” Clarke asked.

“Yes,” he said, nodding succinctly as he stayed in a crouch, his eyes continuing to scan around them for the next threat.

Clarke turned to look at Bellamy, her eyes hard. “I’ll go,” she said moving toward the forest.

Bellamy was about to reach out and stop her when Echo and Roan broke through the trees, their hands underneath the arms of one of their attackers. Bellamy’s shoulders sagged in relief, and then tensed up around his arrow wound. The adrenaline was starting to slow down, and the pain was making itself known now that the assault was over. 

They dropped the man with a splatter. Echo used her boot to turn him over, blood streaming down from his clearly broken nose. She pushed her sword into his throat, hissing in rapid Trig.

“Wanheda, i’m glad you are not dead,” Roan said, nodding and looking too relaxed for Bellamy’s liking. “But your knight seems to be injured.” Bellamy wished he had a smart comment to retort but he was too focused on the pain spreading down his back to spit it out.

“Oh shit, Bellamy,” Clarke breathed, “hold on, can you kneel down you’re too tall for me to look at it properly.”

“It’s fine Princess just take it out,” Bellamy groaned. “I don’t think it hit anything important.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes, “when we’re done with this shit show you're going to apprentice in medical for awhile. Find out what the correct meaning of ‘‘nothing important’ is.”

“Is that my hearing loss or are you two flirting at an inappropriate time again,” Murphy said sourly as he snapped his fingers near his ear. Bellamy was going to yell at him again but between the blush that rose up in Clarke’s cheeks and the quick rip of pain through his shoulder blade as she pulled the arrow out, he somehow forgot. 

“You’re right,” she said primly, “nothing too important.” 

“Ugh,” he said back, sitting down in the mud before he could get too lightheaded. 

Echo was still muttering back and forth with the injured grounder. The man was spitting out answers, sending seething looks in Clarke’s direction as his eyes took in the dead bodies all around them. 

“Roan? What was this?” Clarke asked, doing her best not to look at the man on the ground cry out in pain as Echo pressed a foot into his groin. “Did your mother send these men to kill us?”

“These men were part of Ontari’s guard,” Roan said darkly, his head turned downward to listen to the answers the assassin gave haltingly. It would seem she disagrees with the idea of the Queen engaging in talks with Wanheda.” 

“Do you think Queen Nia knew?” she asked nervously crossing her arms in front of her.

“It doesn’t matter,” Echo said, pulling out her smaller blade and swiping it across the man’s throat to silence him for good.

“Of course it matters,” Octavia said angrily. Bellamy’s vision was starting to clear and he looked up to his sister. Blood was splattered across her face, a parting gift from the men she had so easily killed. 

Echo frowned at her, “If the Queen sent them then she did it under the guise of Ontari so she could still meet with Wanheda if they failed. If Ontari acted without her authority then the end result is now the same.”

“Except now we know Ontari is trying to kill Clarke,” Octavia retorted. 

“That was a given,” Roan said dryly. 

Bellamy turned his head to stare at her bloody hand. It was at eye level from his position, as he sat the mud. “Is your hand okay?” He asked questioningly, catching her attention from Roan. Her eyes seemed unfocused.

Clarke frowned, staring down at him, “caught a grounder knife before I shot him.” 

“You should get that cleaned, or it will get infected,” he said, “someone was always yelling at me about that.”

“A smart someone,” Clarke muttered, but not without a small twitch of her lips. It disappeared as the group turned to the sound of the Rover coming back up the road. 

Raven was at the wheel, her eyes wide as she took in the scene before them. The road littered with dead bodies and bloody ground. Bellamy sitting in the mud with a stream of red down his back and Murphy covered in scrapes, still clicking his fingers near his ear with a frantic expression on his face.

“Well this looked like it was fun,” she said, after confirming no one she cared about was dead. 

“You all good Reyes?” Bellamy called out, finally getting to his feet as Monty, Jasper, Miller and Harper clambered out of the back. 

“Yeah, Monty doored a few of them as we backed up, broke one of the mirrors.” she said shooting him a glare.

Monty stared at her, shaking his head in disbelief, “better a mirror than our necks Raven.”

“You say that now,” she replied darkly. “Come on kids, we saw a side road as we came back up, lets get cleaned up and make camp. Murphy, get in the back, you look awful.”

“Now that’s the concern I’ve been looking for,” Murphy said, in slightly better spirits as he walked over, “those that don’t care about my wellbeing can walk.”

Clarke looked over at Bellamy, “you should go with him,” she said.

“Yeah, no thanks,” he replied wincing as he picked up the pack that had fallen down in the melee. “Finding our horses sounds more enjoyable to whatever he’d subject us to in there.”

Clarke shrugged in agreement, looking over at Roan and Echo as the two wandered around the trail, sliding swords into throats to make sure the dead were dead.

Octavia was staring at her oddly, “what?” Clarke asked, noticing her stares. 

“You fought off a grounder in the woods?” she said, more a statement than a question.

“I think he recognized me,” she said, “he hesitated when he saw my face and it gave me enough time to get my gun up.”

Octavia cracked a smile, “Wanheda strikes again.”

“O,” Bellamy said in a warning, looking at Clarke. Her face was impassive but he saw her hand twitch, the one that wasn’t bloody. 

“Let’s get to camp,” she said finally, following behind Roan and Echo as they moved back down the trail, Echo had notched another bow and kept it ready as they walked back. 

Bellamy fell in with Octavia as they started down the trail, leaving the blood soaked dirt behind them. The whole thing couldn’t have lasted more than ten minutes. “Why do you have to do that?” he asked when Lincoln had slowed down enough to cover the ground behind them and stay out of earshot. 

“She needs to learn Bell,” Octavia said wearily. 

“What possible lesson are you trying to teach her O?” He asked, he would have waved his hands around to express his point, except everything above his waist currently hurt to move. 

She raised her eyes at him, “apparently the same one I’m going to have to get through your head.”

Bellamy shook his head, “I raised you to be kinder.” 

Octavia frowned, “We need her to remember what she is. You should remember what she is. What happens to the people that trust her.” 

Bellamy stayed quiet, he could sense how uncomfortable Octavia was, the anger that simmered beneath every step. 

“I remember O,” he said softly, “but I also remember that trusting Clarke has saved us too. Like Lincoln from the reaper addiction, and Jasper from the spear through his chest.”

Octavia whipped her head to him, expression hard, “she’s a dangerous person to love Bell.”

“Yeah, and Mom loving you enough to risk all our lives was dangerous too. Doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth it.” Octavia stumbled a little in the mud, but Bellamy didn’t reach out to steady her. 

He didn’t catch up to Clarke, but he didn’t let Octavia step into line with him again either. They stayed like that all the way to where Raven and the others had set up camp, the horses clomping up to find them along the way. 

He was halfway between a sister that blamed the world for her pain, and a woman that blamed herself for all the pain in the world.


	10. Chapter 10

It was a subdued tone around the campfire that night. Getting shot at with arrows had a tendency to do that. 

Echo had been taking down a deer when the attack began, so now the meat spat and crackled in front of them over the flames. They circled the fire. Harper and Monty leaning on each other. Jasper tucked in near the Rover, the shadows obscuring his form as he took small sips from a flask, sobriety a forgotten promise once Kane was in the dust. 

Miller, Raven, and Murphy ate quietly to her right, talking back and forth, tossing a question behind them to where Octavia sat pensively with Lincoln, the latter whispering into her ear. 

Bellamy was on her left, eating silently after she had cleaned and stitched up the wound in his back. She didn’t commented on the fading scars that littered his skin, she knew where many of them were from. Accidents at the drop ship, run-ins with the grounders, and whatever had gone on in the cages at Mount Weather. Part of her was desperate to ask what had caused the oddly zigzagged one near his kidney.

He’d returned the favor afterwards on her hand, picking out the bits of dirt that had wedged their way into the long but shallow slice. She focused on his fingers winding the clean piece of gauze around and around. How many times had they put each other back together? 

She was almost sad when he closed his large hands over hers, setting the binding with a pin. “Good as new Princess,” he’d said quietly, holding her hand a moment longer, then dropping it to pick up his share of the deer meat. 

Clarke finished her portion, swallowing down the protein with a few sips of moonshine. As she looked around the group, her gaze landing on Roan who sat opposite her with Echo. She was surprised at how enjoyable a travel companion he’d been. 

He was interested in her life up on the Ark, and easy to share stories about his own childhood in Azgeda. She could see how he was annoying to some. He was all swagger and dirty remarks. She hadn’t missed the looks Bellamy had given them as they rode together, but she wished he knew how similar Roan was to the boy she had first met at the drop ship. Arrogance hiding a deep sense of protectiveness. 

But he also knew a great deal about the area, telling Clarke about his family and his grandfather King Theo. Clarke had always excelled in history. Perhaps she didn’t know as much of the classics as Bellamy did, but she was slowly creating a framework in her mind about how the world had survived while others had fled to space. 

But now, she knew they needed to learn something more if they were going to be successful in Azgeda. Ontari was apparently a larger obstacle than had been previously disclosed, and Clarke felt herself trying to connect the dots between nightblood, and flames, and power without a clear guide. 

“Roan,” she began, clearing her voice as their attention turned her. “We need to talk about what’s next.”

Roan looked unusually serious, the beginning of a bruise forming near the crown of his head, his hair braided tightly back. “The travels continue Wanheda, Ontari’s attack does not alter our goal.”

“Yes, but seeing as there’s someone who is obviously not happy with us coming, I think it’s time you clue us into what’s going on at court,” she said. 

Roan raised an eyebrow, “do I need to remind you again that i’ve been gone? I’ve had to rely on a steady rotation of ambassadors to glean what information I can.”

“And?” Clarke said, nodding him on. 

Roan frowned, “You’ve been told all of this before Wanheda.”

“Consider it a refresh then, for the group.”

Roan tensed, looking around the campsite, and over to Echo before relenting with a long suffering sigh. Oh, the hardships of a Prince. “Queen Nia believes Ontari should be the rightful Commander. She claims that her excommunication from Lexa’s conclave was not the will of the Commanders, but of an errant flamkepa with a prejudice against Azgeda rule. She hates that she lost a chance to control everything by putting the flame in a nightblood that was dependent on her, in the seat of power.”

“See, this is the problem,” Clarke said leaning forward, rubbing her hands together to create some warmth in front of the fire. “You keep leaving out the story behind what the flame actually is. We didn’t grow up with this story. I kept thinking it was a symbol, like a crown, but you talk about it like it’s something real, something necessary.” 

“It is real,” Lincoln spoke up from the back. “The flame is not just a ritual Clarke, it’s a tool that every Commander takes into their mind, to give them the wisdom they have collected."

“A tool...are you saying she literally has something in her brain?” 

“Hold up kids,” Raven said cautiously, “are you talking about artificial intelligence? A hard drive?” 

“I don’t know if what i’m describing is the same thing you are,” Lincoln said, still reclining around Octavia's hunched form, “but yes, it was given to us from Becca Pramheda, the first Commander to help our people. She too came from the sky.”

Clarke looked over at Raven and Monty, both of whom seemed to be rolling their eyes to the heavens and back into their own brains in an attempt to piece out a puzzle they had the border to, but nothing to fill it in.

Clarke could feel something tugging at her, half memories in the weeks leading up to Mount Weather, laying out in a new way. Lexa was only a few years older than Clarke, but commanded with a strength and gravitas of someone that had done this over and over and over.

She was someone who could say that love is weakness because they’d tried that path. Could betray because she saw the maneuver’s end. Lexa could out play, out scheme, out last a Queen that had been on the throne for thirty years. She could inspire loyalty from a fierce warrior like Indra, and a kind man like Lincoln because she hadn’t been ruling for just a few years, she’d been ruling for over a hundred.

Clarke felt herself go numb as the realization hit. “Roan, this religion of the flame, your people are worshiping a bit of 100 year old technology, and i’m helping you idiots!” Clarke got up, kicking over her cup of moonshine, the metal clanging against her boot as she restlessly walked around the ground. 

Roan shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t see where this anger comes from Wanheda,” he said. “Does it matter why the belief exists? The reality is that giving Ontari the knowledge of past Commanders is dangerous. The conclave is meant to train the nightbloods so they can wield it safely. Ontari is unstable, giving her that power is not good, no matter what you think of our beliefs.”

“I really want to go back to the fact that Lexa has A.I. in her brain,” Raven said holding her hand up as though they were in a classroom and not a forest floor.

“How does it get passed on?” Bellamy interrupted, watching Clarke pace back and forth in the soft ground, wearing a path between a large tree and the log they’d been leaning against. “The flame, you said it was attached to their minds?”

“I saw the ceremony once,” Echo said unexpectedly, “they pulled the flame out of the dead Commander. They spoke into it, and it came alive and crawled into the new Commander’s neck. He spoke with her memories, he recited the history of the guards that had been by her side. That Commander is alive in Lexa’s mind, and all the ones that came before.”

“It’s why Lexa is trying this path first,” Roan added, “she has the memories of my Mother through the eyes of previous Commanders, she understands what motivates her. Azgeda is a large force to be reckoned with. Even Lexa’s entire coalition against us would still create huge losses on both sides.”

Clarke looked down at her hand, she’d been kneading at her palm again, the cut there oozing blood around the bandage. “Immortality,” Clarke whispered. “That’s why you fear Ontari so much. She takes the flame, she gets to live forever in the Commanders that come next, influencing their decisions. It would never end.”

“Clarke,” Bellamy said, getting up and walking over to her, “Roan’s right, the reasons behind Ontari and Queen Nia’s actions don’t matter as much as the outcome. I could give you a thousand examples of times in history where people killed in the name of immortality, or gods, or a line in the sand. Just because the stories have caught up to a version that includes A.I., doesn’t matter as much when an army marches toward our home.” 

Clarke sighed, looking over to her friends, their worried expressions. Except for Raven who had pulled out a pad of paper and was scribbling frantically. She back at Bellamy, willing him to see the madness in this. 

“Remember Clarke, we’re playing the long game,” he said, hands curling around her arms.

Clarke shook her head, pulling away from him, a heaviness in her limbs. “Fine, we continue, but you guys,” she said looking over at Murphy, Monty, Jasper, Harper, Miller, and Raven, “you’re taking the Rover, and following a different path up. We can’t trust that we won’t get attacked again, and even if we make it, I want a chance to get a handle on the Queen before taking all of you in there.”

“No! We’re not leaving you!” Raven said, setting her pencil down indignantly. “You need us to watch your back.” 

“I’ve got a spy, a prince, a sky warrior, whatever thousands of skills Lincoln possesses, plus Bellamy,” Clarke said. Trust me, my back is watched more than i’m comfortable with. It’s the smart play, and Roan was already talking about a second pathway up that is only revealed this time of year.”

Monty and Harper exchanged glances, “I’m not saying it doesn’t make sense Clarke, but we’re supposed to do this as a team,” Monty said. 

“We’re supposed to get this peace treaty signed. How it gets done needs to evolve with the circumstances,” Clarke said looking at Monty pleadingly. “The rover can go faster when you're not alongside the horses. Your route is longer, but you’ll still get there the day after we do.”

The group fell into a nervous silence. Clarke spared a glance back to Roan. His mouth was a thin line, all good humor having disappeared. “Anything to add Prince?” She asked hesitantly. 

“No Wanheda,” he said somberly, “separating is a good strategy, at the very least it will split the number of assassins coming after.” 

Clarke sighed, both relieved and filled with a sense of unease at how easily they seemed to fall in line. An echo of their own history, the history of the 100 repeating itself. Oddly, it was Jasper and not Clarke, that gave voice to the tightness in her chest. 

“You’re all fucking insane to let her do this again,” his words punctuated the group, the edges blurred by alcohol. 

“Jasper,” Monty said from beside Harper, “knock it off.”

There was a heaviness that laced the group now, the anger that poured from Jasper at every turn had been stretching and pulling at them the whole way. It was always going to break. Clarke was tired of waiting for it. 

“No, Monty,” Clarke said, standing slowly, and moving around the fire and toward Jasper, as though she approached a wild animal. “Jasper has something to say, let him say it.” 

Jasper looked away, as though he regretted speaking, but he took another swallow from the bottle in his hand. “Every time we follow you, every time you decide you know best, more of us end up dead. But you just can’t help yourself, can you Clarke?”

She was in front of him now, standing above his hunched form. His face upturned toward her. Challenging her to say he was wrong.

“I didn't ask you to follow me. I didn't want you here at all. Yet here you sit, drinking the stuff we need to clean our wounds.” Clarke said quietly, but the camp was so still her words carried. 

“I’m here because I don’t trust you,” Jasper snarled back.

“So do something about it!” Clarke shouted stepping forward. Jasper’s eyes went wide and a twisted part of her felt pleased that she could scare him. Had she felt numb before? Not anymore. Now she felt a thrumming in her veins that hadn’t been there in a long time. She was tired of Jasper’s shit. 

She took another step forward into his space, letting the rage fuel her words like he let his so many times. “You don’t want me to lead, you don’t want me in charge? Then step the fuck up Jasper. Tell me what to do now. Tell me which direction to take. Which one keeps them alive?” She gestured at the group behind them as Jasper seem to curl in on himself. 

“What?” She said to his silent form, “Nothing to say? Tell. Me. What. To. Do.” Clarke had gotten closer with each word until she was crouched in front of him, staring him down. She didn’t break her gaze until he shifted his own to the ground. 

“Clarke,” Monty’s soft voice reached her, like a live shock and Clarke shook herself, stumbling back. She almost apologized, almost became the Clarke that had been saying sorry to Jasper for months. But then Jasper used the gap she had left to stand up and step in close to her. She could feel his breath on her face and she tensed, waiting for the hands around her throat. 

They didn’t come. 

Instead Jasper squeezed his eyes closed, the pain lining his face. “Go float yourself Clarke,” he said finally, stepping back, running a hand under his nose, a sob heaved out as he stumbled away into his tent. Clarke nodded silently in agreement, her back still turned to the group.

“Clarke,” Bellamy’s voice called out. She turned toward him, shrugging her shoulders slightly. What could she say? What was left? She looked around, they all were trying very hard to arrange their faces in something that didn’t resemble shock. 

She took a deep breath, “anyone else have a concern about the plan?” She asked, trying to appear more relaxed than she was. She had asked them to follow her. Now she had to be someone worth looking to, again. 

“I do,” Miller said, and Clarke turned toward him in shock, feeling a bit of heartbreak that she had lost someone she hadn't considered she could lose. 

“Does Azgeda have guns?” He asked, looking at Clarke with a little smile, and she could feel something unspool in her. 

“No,” Roan replied evenly, Clarke shooting him a grateful look..

“Then i’m good,” Miller said, throwing whatever was left on his plate into the fire and walking away. For a few moments the only sounds were literal crickets. 

“Well,” Clarke paused, “fine.” 

For lack of anything better to do, and feeling like it would be best for this night to just be over she walked past Bellamy and rolled out her bedroll, laid down, and turned her back toward them, ignoring the awkward shifting and throat clearing that went on behind her as everyone quietly put their dinners away and got ready for a few bad hours of sleep.

It wasn’t long before Bellamy’s long sigh and groan filled her ears as he laid down next to her. 

“You have something to say?” She asked, not looking back at him. 

He waiting a beat before answering, “I think that went well.”

She snorted, “liar.”

Jasper’s words, though empty in one way, had the kernel of truth in them that she was scared of. She felt like every new piece she learned about this world dislodged something else she thought she knew. She was leading half blind and with an arm tied behind her back. Yet they trusted her. If she wasn’t so terrified of it she would have felt something close to awe at their loyalty.

Maybe it's why she didn’t pull away when Bellamy’s arm reached around her to pull her back against him. These last few nights he’d inched closer and closer, holding her hand but never more. She knew he hoped it would stave off the nightmares waiting for her. He was wrong. 

Her dreams that night were filled with falling rockets, and fires, and her friends dead in front of her. And Lexa. Lexa screaming her name as a spider crawled out of her neck and black blood filled her mouth.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments, I've had a lot of fun writing this story.  
> Next up are a few smaller chapters from the perspective of Raven and Octavia.

Raven was up before dawn to say goodbye to her friends. It wasn’t a great morning. There was an odd, icky feeling that kept creeping up the back of her neck, making her pull her long dark hair up higher than normal.

It happened whenever they were separated. Whenever this little heartbeat of the 100 was scattered around, bad things happened. And now she was just driving away to let it all fall apart again. 

She stopped loading the rover to look over at Clarke. Clarke with her too pale face and lost eyes. No matter how many times Bellamy woke her from the nightmares she fell right back into them. Now everyone was exhausted. Raven was proud of her for standing up for herself last night. But it seemed there was a price to pay for stepping into Wanheda’s shoes. 

Raven bit her lip. She shouldn’t have let her hide away in her shop for so long, but then again, that was Murphy’s fault too. 

But she’d felt like it wasn’t her place to confront Clarke about it. Everyone had to face what they’d done in their own way. Raven was just as culpable. She’d been every bit a part of Mount Weather and the Drop Ship. None of it would have been possible without her, but for some reason, she just didn’t feel it the same way Clarke, or Bellamy, or even Monty did. 

Of course it was there, the guilt and shame, but in an abstract way. She’d be fixing a component, rewiring the greenhouse, wrenching open the filtration system and she’d stop for a moment and think about the fact that she could break so much more effectively than she fixed. The things she destroyed...well there was no more putting them together. What had she said? “It won’t survive me.”

But yet, she moved on. She slept like the dead. Still thought about sex on a near daily basis, even if she hadn’t found anyone to her liking after Wick. But maybe that's because she was always in her shop. Was that concerning? 

“Nah,” she thought, pulling herself up into the Rover. She wasn’t riddled by the guilt of the dead, or traumatized by the loss. She was strong. She fixed the unfixable. Broke the unbreakable. 

So why did she feel sick this morning, watching the six lonely figures in the rearview mirror? Clarke was right, this was smart. Raven would come through when it all went to hell in Azgeda. 

But something hurt her. Different than the constant hum in her hip. Different than seeing Finn tied to that stake and his blood on Clarke’s hands. Different than even watching her mother trade their dinner rations for booze. 

It came to her nearly an hour later, as they drove parallel to a mountain pass that the others would be traveling on horses in another day. She had spent so much time in that little shop because that’s where Clarke went to stare into the blackness and cough up the poison in her soul. 

That’s where Murphy stopped by with rations and a joke to see if they could shake Clarke out of it for a few minutes. It’s where Monty slipped in and took a hammer to some spare metal for a few minutes after a run in with Jasper. It’s where Bellamy stopped by for advice on a council issue, or to bitch about the guards. Even if Raven ignored his knocks at the door if Clarke was hidden upstairs. 

She was watching over her broken projects. Worrying over their mismatched wires. Trying to find components that would still light up if nudged this way and that. Keeping a wary eye on possible explosions. 

This was the first time since Mount Weather that they'd all been away from each other. It made her uncomfortable. Nervous. She’s so very good at focusing on her projects. It all fades away when she has something to fix. 

“Come on Reyes,” she thought, not liking the way her hands were sweating on the plastic wheel. She looked up to the rearview mirror, where Murphy was stretched out, drumming his fingers incessantly on his thighs, eyes darting all around, waiting for something to catch his interest. 

She smiled a little, there you go. Not all your toys are missing. She'd just have to turn her full attention to something else. Turning John Murphy into someone she could stand would keep her running along just fine. And hell, if she managed to do that, maybe she’d go for a hail mary and find out how to put Jasper Jordan back together. 

She pushed the pedal down harder, turning up the music, and ignoring Miller’s frown at the extra noise. The rumble of the Rover threaded through her veins, shoving the darkness from her mind as they disappeared into the peaks of the terrain ahead.


	12. Chapter 12

Octavia woke up to the smell of wet grass and sharp air. They’d camped the night before beneath a tight growth of trees overlooking a mountain edge. 

In the back of her mind she knew they were in more danger here than behind the fences of Arkadia, but she wasn’t sorry. Because out here, she could turn a corner and see mountains and rivers at every turn of the ben. She could lead Lincoln into the privacy of the trees without worrying about a kill order. She could race Helios across the fields until she thought her heart would burst. 

The ground thrilled her, and it was changing her. It was turning her into a woman who could wield a sword with confidence, that could fight her own battles, that could love so fiercely is scared her at times. The ground was changing all of them, but none so much as Clarke Griffin. 

Octavia’s eyes adjusted as she leaned her head against her arm, her torso still wrapped up in the heavy security of Lincoln’s arms. Clarke was curled up near Bellamy, the dead fire throwing soot at her fingers as though she’d clawed at it in her sleep.

She considered the blonde. Clarke had been someone she’d more or less looked up to those weeks after the crash. But the Clarke she had met had been confident, and kind, and she saw how she took care of the others. How she fought for them. She also saw how Bellamy looked at her when he thought no one noticed. 

But nothing was easy on the ground. The woman she thought she could trust had chained up and helped torture the man she’d begun to love. She had trusted her again, and then she sent Bellamy into a mountain to be tortured as well. To top it off she’d let bombs drop on her. Trapping her beneath the ground again. 

Danger followed this woman. And now her brother was following her as well. She worried at her lip breaking the chapped skin. Besides the dangers this journey represented, Bellamy being “disappointed” in her were the drawbacks to this trip. 

He was angry at her for trying to protect him, but hadn’t he done the same to her? Kept her away from Lincoln because he saw him as dangerous. Except, it turned out Lincoln was only dangerous to those that would hurt Octavia. So whose footsteps was she following in now? 

The light broke weakly over their camp, Octavia could make out the clearing now. She sighed, she was going to have to find a way forward with Clarke, and this was the best way she knew how. She treaded lightly over to her, careful to not disturb her brother. The woman’s eyes danced back and forth beneath her eyelids, her face lined with worry even in sleep. 

Octavia laid a hand on her shoulder, and Clarke’s eyes flew open in fear, her own hand coming up to protect herself before she realized she was staring at Octavia, instead of whatever had been coming for her in her dreams. 

“Octavia?” She asked, confused and bleary. 

“Get up,” Octavia said, “we’re going to train.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow, taking in the barely risen sun, the sleeping forms all around them, “i’m assuming a ‘No Thanks’ isn’t going to work here,” she said, her voice dry. 

“Not even a little,” Octavia said, “it’s time you learned how to use something besides a lever to protect us.” Octavia stood up from her crouched position and grabbed the two swords she’d leaned against the tree, and walked toward the clearing.

Octavia waited until Clarke had pulled her hair back from her face, her hands red and raw from the cold air. While Octavia had flourished and grown strong, the ground had done a number on Clarke. Octavia wasn’t going to be able to turn her into a fighter in the few travel days left before they reached Azgeda, but maybe something else could get accomplished. 

Octavia tossed her a sword, and to her begrudging credit, Clarke managed to grab it hilt side. 

“What brought this on?” she asked warily, circling Octavia, her stance all wrong. 

“Here,” Octavia said, stabbing her sword into the ground and walking over to adjust her legs. “Keep your stance wide, knees bent. You’ll have better balance that way.”

“Octavia,” Clarke said again, following her instructions but continuing to look at her as though she’d grown two heads.

“Clarke,” Octavia mocked back, satisfied with her stance now and walked back to grab her own sword.

Clarke set her face in a grimace, the hand that had been cut by the Azgeda assassins was still heavily bandaged, but she tightened her grip on the hilt anyway. She raised it up and waited for the blow to come. 

“Bellamy had bad dreams in the beginning too,” Octavia said, letting Clarke start at the words as she brought her sword down. Clarke managed to get hers up just in time to block it, wincing as the blow jarred against her hand. 

“So I got him up early to train,” she circled Clarke as the woman narrowed her eyes, tracking the movements, “and kept him up late.” She darted in for an attack, but kept it slow enough that Clarke could step to the side for a late block. 

“By the time his head hit the pillow, nightmares would have taken too much energy,” she said stepping back and letting Clarke catch her breathe. “Eventually, they stopped all together. Eventually, the thing I was distracting him from,” and Octavia twisted around violently forcing Clarke to parry three strikes at once, “was looking for you, everywhere.” Octavia backed off then. Clarke had already begun sweating, the bandage on her hand leaking blood on the handle. But her face had color in it, her eyes brighter in the day break.

“Is that what this is about Octavia?” Clarke said, switching hands around the sword, “first you’re angry at me for being around again, and now you’re angry that I stayed away in the first place.”

This time Clarke went in for the attack first, Octavia easily dodging the strikes. “You think I don’t already hate myself for it?” Clarke said in disbelief, “you think I don’t add it to the list of reasons I don’t deserve anything good, ever?” She swung again, but Octavia stepped back too far and Clarke fell to the ground with a heavy grunt. 

“Clarke,” Octavia said, kneeling down as Clarke rolled onto her back, the sword dropped into the dirt. Blue eyes stared up at her. “I can’t fix how you feel about what we’ve done to stay alive. But this was how I helped Bellamy come back to himself a little bit. It might not be your preferred method, but it’s what i’ve got.”

“I thought you hated me,” Clarke said, still staring up at her, the sun rising behind Octavia’s head in a halo of light. 

“I’m angry at the choices you made. I’m angry that who you trusted hurt me, hurt my brother. Octavia said, pausing, “but, just because I can’t forget, doesn’t mean I can’t forgive you.” 

“Octavia,” Clarke whispered, rolling over to stand, and almost meeting the taller woman’s eyes. “I,” she began, then stopped. “Okay,” she finally said. 

Octavia nodded, she didn’t want an apology from Clarke, she didn’t need one. She needed an understanding. “Just promise me something Clarke,” Octavia said, stepping in close, her green eyes large. 

Clarke hung her head, “I can’t keep anyone safe Octavia,” she said sadly, “they wouldn't call me Wanheda if I could.”

“No, i’m not asking you to keep him safe, he can take care of himself, or I can take care of him,” Octavia said, shaking her head, the dark hair sticking to her face.

“Then what?” 

“Make sure he knows. Make sure he knows that he matters to you, or mattered, or whatever,” Octavia said, “before your fight is over. Tell him.”

Clarke took a deep breath, “you think my fight’s almost over?” 

“I think Wanheda’s days are numbered. I think you’re going to break his heart again. I just hope it’s for a good reason.”

“Will you help him?” Clarke asked hesitantly, “if that’s how it ends? You’ll take care of him?”

Octavia tilted her head, “my brother, my responsibility.” Octavia turned from Clarke, sheathing her sword and walking back to the tents. 

“Hey, Octavia?” Clarke asked.

“Yeah?” 

“This whole early morning wake up call is going to keep happening isn’t it?”

“And before bed,” Octavia corrected her. “I want you to be as prepared as possible, I think we’re going to need Wanheda for a bit longer.” 

“So much for levers,” Clarke said to her disappearing back. 

The morning sun warming her now, she turned her face towards it, letting it burn away the dark threads of her nightmares. A piece of her, small but still important, didn’t feel as scarred this morning.


	13. Chapter 13

They were a silent party of six at the Azgeda gates. There wasn’t much Clarke could see in the foggy morning. A ten foot stone wall faced them, wrapping around so that Clarke couldn’t begin to fathom where it ended. If she squinted really hard she thought she could make out a turret creeping up among the trees.

“Roan,” she asked

“Mmm,” he voiced back, his eyes trained on the spaces between the bars.

“Does your Mom live in a castle?” She hoped it wasn’t a silly question, but nothing on the ground was ever what she expected. The turret made her think of those illustrations in the books her father would read to her at night. Roan looked at her, smiling slightly. 

“Depends on your definition of castle, Wanheda. My grandfather said that the seat of Azgeda power was once simply the home of a very, very rich family from the time before. It was strong enough to survive the bombs, but the people inside fell to those who were stronger.”

“Did you grow up there?” she asked

“Some years, yes,” he said.

Clarke’s horse grew restless beneath her as Echo dismounted and stalked to stand in front of her Prince. 

“Our welcoming committee is here,” she said quietly, hand on the hilt of her sword. 

Clarke saw nothing at first. But then they seemed to simply materialize out of the fog and trees. Ten large warriors walked toward them now, covered in layers of black leather and white pelts. Their faces were masked by the visages of animals and human skulls. 

Clarke spared a glance back to Bellamy who had nudged his horse up to her right side.

“They don’t look particularly excited to see us,” he muttered, looking over to Octavia as she unsheathed her own sword from its scabbard across her back. “Maybe don’t try to threaten them just yet O?”

Octavia’s lips twisted in a grimace, “I don’t think first impressions are really necessary, they already tried to kill us once.”

“Bellamy is right,” Roan spoke up, “we return to Azgeda as peaceful emissaries, not to bring a fight, at least not yet. You will listen to me here Octavia.” 

Octavia shot an annoyed look at both men, but returned the weapon to its home as Lincoln reached over and squeezed her hand. Clarke was never more thankful for his steadying presence. 

It seemed to stretch on forever, but as soon the warriors reached the gates. Echo strode up to them and conferred quietly in Tridgeslang, a harsh, long accent layered to her words. She turned back to them, bringing her arm up toward Roan, gesturing to the broad man still on horseback.

“I bring you your Prince, and Wanheda. You’ll open these gates to us now, unless you wish to bring both the wrath of your Queen, and the Commander of Death down upon yourselves?” Echo spoke imperiously. 

The men seem to react nervously to Clarke, but she continued to stare back at them impassively astride her horse. She was the monster in the dark, not them. 

“Men, it’s been nearly a decade since i’ve been home. But I carry the scars that only the royal line can have, and also, Miles, i’d recognize that limp anywhere. I gave it to you.” Roan said as he leaped down from his horse, clapping his hands together to snap some warmth back into them.

Clarke thought she saw the lead person to the group smile beneath his mask. “Prince Roan was an ugly bastard for sure, but you’re much worse.”

“Your mother never seemed to mind,” Roan replied easily, walking past Echo’s tense frame. “Let us in Miles, the Queen expects us.”

The man called Miles looked back up to Clarke. “You bring death to our door my Prince?”

“I bring power to your door,” Roan replied, “and if there’s one thing your Queen demands, it’s that...you piece of horse shit.” he added to the end, in an endearing manner. They waited a few beats in silence, the only sounds the swish of their horse’s tails.

“It’s good to see you again Roan,” Miles said, taking out a key and unlocking the gates. “You’ve been away too long.”

“Yes, i’m expecting quite the affectionate welcome,” Roan replied dryly. He turned back to their group. “Welcome to Azgeda.”

Clarke nodded once to Miles as they le their horses in, not bothering to look back at the heavy clang of metal as the door closed and the key turned again. She shivered despite the furs on her shoulders. There may be sky in this prison, but those walls were made of stone, just like Mount Weather. 

***

Clarke actually gasped when they arrived at the Queen’s stronghold. She turned to meet Bellamy’s wide eyes, “you know, if i’d grown up here, you calling me Princess would be a lot more accurate.”

Bellamy nodded in wonderment as he took in the giant, stone monstrosity in front of them. “You’d have been even more insufferable than you were at the drop ship, Princess.” 

“Asshole,” Clarke shot back but found that she couldn’t tear her gaze away from it. Whatever had once been a large family mansion had been added to over the last 100 years since the bombs had dropped. 

Fortified with stone, steel barricades, and what seemed like 10 ft thick ice walls, the Azgeda castle certainly had intimidation going for it, but it’s strange, terrifying beauty is what caught Clarke off guard. There was an artistry to this land, their warriors may be ruthless, but their passions could create something glorious as well.

They dismounted from their horses and grouped together in a built out courtyard, the stables on the left, and a group of archways that from the smell, lead to the kitchen. Lincoln was already conversing pleasantly with the Azgeda horsemen, while Octavia seemed to have her head on a swivel, taking in yet another new world. 

Clarke watched the people mill about, taking note of how they reacted to Roan being in their midst again. It was the young that paid him no mind, the middle aged and elderly that passed gave deep bows and hearty welcomes. Roan may be remembered by his people she thought uneasily, but the youth of his nation had very little memory of him at all. Would they follow him if Nia wouldn’t see reason?

She felt a squeeze of her hand and leaned into Bellamy’s frame. He was always so blessedly warm. Sometimes she woke from a less violent dream to realize they were wrapped around each other. She never had it in her to untangle herself from him at night, but here she held herself still, squeezing his hand back and returning to a solid stance as Queen Nia strode out to the courtyard to greet them.

It wasn’t that the Queen couldn’t be called beautiful, her pale gray eyes were deep set and fringed by dark eyelashes and brows. Her tall frame was slender and strong in a simple, fur lined dress. She wasn’t even very terrifying, although the Clarke of a year ago would have startled at the intricate scars that framed the face proudly. It was the fact that this woman of winter seemed to be on fire, the ice only feeding the flames of the insanity that simmered beneath her skin. 

And if Clarke was looking for the person who kept coaxing the flames alive, she needed to only look for the slight, dark-haired young woman who followed at Queen Nia’s heels, the famed, excommunicated Nightblood, Ontari. 

“Roan!” Nia exclaimed, as she made her wave over. She stopped a few feet from him, and Roan did as a good prince does, and knelt down to kiss her hand. 

“My Queen,” he murmured, rising again, “you look well Mother,” he added to the end, giving her a smile that Clarke assumed had worked wonders for him as a small child. 

“No thanks to the Commander,” Nia replied swiftly, “I sent you to be a voice for our people, and yet you cut us down at the knees.”

“Well it depends on who you listen to these days,” Roan said brightly, arms clasped behind his back, eyes shifting over to a sullen looking Ontari. “Stories can shift so strangely depending on the teller.”

Queen Nia lifted her chin, a small smile played on her lips, “as always my son, your tales reach to the moon and back. But this time you brought me a real fallen star on your journey home,” she said, looking squarely at Clarke now.

Luckily for Clarke, Indra had given her several tips, or as Clarke felt, threats, about how to interact with Queen Nia. They didn’t think that Wanheda should bow before her, the luster of power was a necessary tool right now, but they did need Queen Nia to feel respected. So, as instructed Clarke stepped forward slowly, and bowed her head for a few moments, then looked straight back into the Queen’s strange silver eyes, “Queen Nia, it’s an honor to meet the leader of Azgeda.”

“Wanheda, it is an honor to welcome you as well,” the Queen replied, “not only did you bring Echo back to us from that mountain, you crushed it when Lexa could not.”

“There’s plenty of time to discuss Wanheda’s heroics,” Roan said interjecting in the strange space between the Queen and Clarke. “But it’s been a long journey and the Commander’s emissaries are weary, it was not without an excitement or two,” he added with a sidelong look at Ontari, who was looking very bored with the pomp and circumstance, her hands constantly spinning two lethal looking daggers. 

“It was told there would be more of you,” Nia asked, looking at their small group. “Did something befall the rest of your entourage Wanheda?”

“They’ll be here for the peace treaty signing tomorrow, they’ve taken our Rover the long way round,” Clarke said.

“Are you Skaikru so weak that you cannot ride the passages on horseback?” Ontari spoke up, her voice higher than Clarke expected.

Clarke smiled, the dry air cracking her lips, “the music is better in the Rover.”

“Yes, our peaceful guests must rest before dinner,” the Queen said sardonically as two servants rushed up to their group, motioning for Clarke and Octavia to follow them in one direction, and Bellamy and Lincoln in the other. “We’ll look forward to the arrival of your fellow kru, until then, please make yourself at home.”

Clarke looked sharply to Echo, who stepped in and nodded to Bellamy as she wrapped a stiff arm around Clarke’s shoulders, and looped her other into Octavia’s. 

“We’ll go first to the steam rooms to wash the road from us, then on to your rooms,” the spy said to Octavia’s furious face as Lincoln waved goodbye and pushed an alarmed looking Bellamy with him. 

“Echo, I don’t like this,” Clarke said. 

“Really? I couldn’t tell at all.”

“What if Ontari tries to murder us in the steam room?” Octavia hissed into Echo’s light brown hair. 

The spy sighed, “listen sky children, I haven’t been home in two years, I smell like horse and i’ve missed these steams like you wouldn’t believe. Now if you don’t shut up and enjoy this I might be the one to kill Clarke, steal her power, and continue with the first relaxing moment i’ve had in months,” she said viciously as they continued into the depths of the castle.

They walked in a twisting pattern among the dark hallways. Did Azgeda not light anything for fear it would melt their castle? Clarke tried to make heads or tails of the path they took but after the 7th right and 4th left and 3rd staircase she simply gave up. At least she’d go to her death a clean, nice-smelling Wanheda. 

Finally, they reached a wooden door, chipped tile surrounding the curved archway and steam sweating off the walls. Clarke was suddenly much too warm in her traveling furs and took her cue from Echo as she started to take off an alarming amount of weaponry. 

“These rooms are heating by an underground hot spring,” Echo said. “We’ll have our own room, but stay quiet, it’s the perfect place to hear rumors before they’ve even begun.”

“Already have your next mission Echo?” Octavia said snidely.

“Yes, a mission to get clean and stay alive.”

Clarke threw a “shut up and play along,” look to Octavia, the latter rolling her eyes so hard she must have seen the back of her own skull. 

Clarke blushed when she finally took off the last of her clothes. She wasn’t a very vain person. She knew she’d been looked at a certain way up on the ark, but it hadn’t occurred to her to compare herself to anyone lately. She did now.

Echo was all long cat-like lines and high cheekbones. Octavia was more petite, but strength filled her out, all those sparring lessons with Lincoln that woke the rest of the camp, and now Clarke, up ungodly early. But even their strength wasn’t what she saw lacking in herself. She was thin in a way that wasn’t just sleeping through the day and wandering the ark halls at night. She felt brittle, dry from the inside out. 

Just trying to spar with Octavia for a few minutes in the mornings and evenings had left her gasping and light headed. She felt like she had more in common with a corpse than with these two strong warriors. Being Commander of Death wasn’t great for skin tone and vitality, that was for sure. 

Maybe a steam room and a night’s rest in a real bed would be the ticket. As they walked into their corner, and sat down on the warm tile benches, Clarke could feel some of the knots in her back release. She kept a note on where Echo was, just in case Ontari really did try something. 

Every so often a servant would come by with cloths filled with colored sand to scrub themselves with, cool water to rinse it off, sweet lotions to smooth their skin, and oils to run through their hair. Clarke leaned her arms forward until her chin rested on her knees. She looked at her feet, and watched the last of the violet color rinse out of her blonde hair. She didn’t have any more masks to wear. 

Tonight, Clarke was sitting down to dinner with a volatile Queen and a Nightblood that wanted her head. She had friends still traveling in a rover, the radio signal blocked by the mountain paths. A Commander in Polis, counting on her to get a peace treaty signed, and a camp full of people who were simply living their lives with no real clue to the games she played.

But, for these few glorious moments she was just going to be Clarke Griffin, enjoying the sensation of being clean again, and pretending that she could slough off the guilt as easily as she could the dirt.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little interlude before a bit of dinner theatre.

Bellamy had been in a lot of strange situations since landing on the ground. He’d been made co-leader of 100 teenage idiots. He’d led rescue missions and attempted assassinations. He’d been strung up by his neck and his feet, seen monsters come to life, and his sister become a razor sharp weapon. 

But currently, as he looked at the clothes laid out for him, on a bed that was bigger than he’d ever seen in his life, in a room that was more richly decorated than any drawing in a book, as he attempted to stop war with politics instead of a sword, he was fairly certain that he’d hit his absolute limit. 

“Is this velvet?” he asked incredulously to the empty room. He'd been led away from all his armor and familiar clothes. Hit with a spray of water and a brush none too kindly. Roan laughing all the way down the hall when Bellamy asked if the girls were getting the same treatment. Then he’d been thrown a fur robe, led back out a different direction down a corridor, just to have a servant open a door, gesture inside, then close it on Bellamy once he was through. 

Which was why he now stood, dripping wet, and shivering a bit despite the warm fire, trying to understand how a black velvet tunic, and new pair of grounder leathers, in his size, were laid out on the bed. 

He had just fastened the surprisingly comfortable pants and was wincing his way through the arrow injury to get the shirt on when the wall opened up. To be fair, it was a door that he just hadn’t known was there, but it still startled him. The fact that Clarke was climbing through it was enough to render him speechless. 

“Bellamy, they put me in a fucking dress, I haven’t worn a dress since I was five.” Clarke was talking to him furiously, seemingly not caring that she’d walked in on him half-dressed. “I know this was Echo’s pick I look like, like,” she was snapping her fingers by her head, a head that was now full of clean, light blonde hair that waved down her back, “like a witch!”

Bellamy was trying to follow her words but all he could make sense of was that Clarke seemed to be wearing stars. She was in a black dress, velvet like the shirt that lay forgotten in his hands. But it was speckled with little bits of metal work that dotted the slim skirt. The bodice was tight to her torso, showcasing a lot more of Clarke than he’d ever seen before. And Arkadia showers were not exactly paragons of privacy. 

Whatever different kind of steam room Clarke had gotten to enjoy she looked healthier than she had in a long time. There was color on her face. Her eyes brightly animated as she ranted her way around the room. She may have thought Echo was mocking her, but he could see what she didn’t. Echo had made Clarke look otherworldly. 

Her skin was so pale against the black velvet that if she closed her eyes and stilled her breath you could mistake her for the dead. But those blue eyes, bright, and angry, and flashing showed off a spirit that had once been dampened and cloaked in so many layers of tragedy. 

The red lines on her throat from the faked assassination, and the jagged cut on her hand still stood out, but they seemed like accessories, badges of honor instead of wounds in this light. This was not a lost girl anymore, this was not even Clarke Griffin, this was a Commander of Death.

“You look amazing,” he finally managed to get out, and she stopped in whatever motion she’d been performing. He thought maybe the lack of ability to hide a dagger on her person in the outfit, and put her arm down sheepishly. 

“Thanks Bellamy,” she said, smiling lightly. She walked over to him, “at least your clothes are practical.” She took the shirt he’d been struggling with as she had come in, collecting it in her hands so he could more easily get his stiff shoulder through the arms. 

As she smoothed the fabric down his waist, Bellamy was gripped by a bit of bravery that this ridiculous situation afforded him. He caught her hands, pulling them around his back and stepping in close to her, wrapping his own around her waist as he pulled her in close. 

Her skin felt warm beneath the fabric. She was still too thin, but after two weeks of being forced into regular meals on the road, instead of finding a corner to hide in on the ark, she’d gotten back some of what this life had pulled from her. Now the dress pulled and wrapped around her so that the curves he had tried to ignore at the drop ship were revealed again. 

“You look nice too,” Clarke finally said in the hushed space between them, her face turned up toward him.

“Thanks Princess.” What Bellamy wouldn’t give to stay in this little room, to have the time to keep pulling Clarke closer until that pale skin and those blue eyes were all he knew. 

He could feel her heart beating against her ribs, could see the color rising in her cheeks. He was almost sure that if he brought her face to his she’d lean into him and he’d find out how closely his dreams aligned with reality.

But, little sisters exist for a reason, and that reason threw open his door, and broke the spell. 

“Great, you’re ready,” Octavia said, walking in gracefully as her own dress swirled around her. It was also made from velvet, but where Clarke’s cut low on her chest and back, O’s had a high slit in the leg. Bellamy thanked whatever mercurial gods watched over them that the bodice went all the way up to circle her throat. It was in a color that reminded Bellamy of the evergreens in the Azgeda courtyard. Lincoln appeared behind her, dressed similarly to Bellamy, but in a color that matched O’s. 

Bellamy shifted away from Clarke, regretting the moment her hands fell from his arms. “O, where’d you hide your knives?”

She smirked back, a wicked gleam in her eyes, “nowhere you want to know about big brother.” She raised an eyebrow at him and Clarke. “Guess we’re playing matching sets tonight.” 

Bellamy took in the dark greens of Octavia and Lincoln, and the midnight velvet's of him and Clarke. It was true, they were being presented as a couple, it must be why their rooms adjoined as well. He looked back at Clarke, the flush from her face gone now, but a smiled still played around her mouth. She put a hand on her hip, and gestured forward to the door. “To our dinner. I for one, am sick of rations.”

Bellamy’s stomach suddenly rumbled, “good idea,” he said, walking toward the door and nodding at Lincoln. Clarke went out ahead of him and he kept his eyes up, like the gentleman his mother raised him to be.

He paused then, grabbing Octavia’s hand before she could go down the hall. She turned to look at him, and her eyes were so much like their mom’s that for a second he felt both immense grief and happiness. 

“You look lovely O, you look like Mom,” his voice catching a bit on the end, but he didn’t try to hide it, he wanted her to know. 

Those green eyes grew wide, “thank you big brother,” she said softly, lifting her head up to kiss him quickly on the cheek. She grabbed his hand for a moment leading him forward. He pretended to not see the quick tears she wiped off her face. 

“I’ve come a long way from hiding under floors haven’t I?” she said into the darkness.

“O, I think it’s safe to say, you’re never going to be able to hide again."

Through the dark gleam of the hallway he could almost see her smile light up their way.


	15. Chapter 15

Bellamy and Clarke walked into the dinning hall side by side. Octavia and Lincoln behind them. Roan had intercepted their cautious steps down the hallway and was now guiding them into dinner. 

Roan was dressed not in the velvets of the four, but in a rich light gray cotton. His back draped by a white fur cape, affixed at the front with a large silver clasp. On his head rested a smaller version of the crown she’d seen Queen Nia wear that morning, bone white antlers criss crossing his forehead. She looked for Echo, but the spy had seemingly vanished, or melted into the ice castle.

Like everything about this palace, the table was bone-white, but gleaming. They stopped a respectful distance away, heads bowing down slightly to Queen Nia and her ever-present shadow, Ontari. 

Despite Bellamy’s apparent approval of the outfit, Clarke wasn’t sure if Echo had done her a favor by choosing black. She now stood in direct dichotomy to the Queen who was dressed in gleaming white furs, pale hair streaked through with gray and woven around the antlers of her crown. Her eyes gleamed in the candlelight. Ontari it seemed had not changed from their earlier welcome. She remained in a rust colored riding vest, her shoulders bare to the cool room. 

It was a large table for just these seven diners. Roan walked over to his mother’s left side, Ontari already occupying her right. He kissed her on the cheek and sat down beside her, motioning for the rest of them to take their places across from the royals. 

Bellamy pulled her chair out for her, Lincoln doing the same for Octavia as they settled into their seats. As she sat Clarke looked up and almost listed to the side at the sight above her.

She had noticed the empty feeling of the cavernous hall the moment she had stepped out of the closed alcoves of the hallways, but now as she looked up she could see that the edges of the walls were lined with balconies. Nearly six levels of them. 

All of them filled with Azgedans that now seemed to serve no other purpose than to watch them. After so many days in the wilderness, the feeling of hundreds of pairs of eyes on her set Clarke’s skin crawling. 

Queen Nia noticed Clarke’s upturned gaze, “news of your arrival spread quickly Wanheda, I thought my council and people deserved a chance to see the legend in the flesh. I hope you don’t mind.” 

“Of course not,” Clarke said tightly, lifting her cup to her lips, saying a silent prayer that poison wouldn’t be on the first course. She let the sweet wine course down her throat, and could almost feel Bellamy relaxing beside her when she failed to keel over. 

“Did you enjoy the accommodations? I’m told your camp is very rudimentary compared to what we have here,” the Queen said sweetly. Clarke noticed how her voice carried through the space, reaching every ear. This wasn’t dinner. This was a performance. The Queen and Lexa were not dissimilar in their taste for theatrics. 

“Roan failed to mention how beautiful your home was,” Clarke said, figuring flattery was the safest path forward. “Skaikru has only heard stories of such things, seeing it in real life is truly breathtaking.” In this at least, she was not lying. 

“I’m sure Prince Roan failed in a lot of things,” Ontari said. Clarke watched Roan’s gaze darken, while the Queen smiled serenely toward her nightblood. 

“On the contrary,” Clarke said, “Queen Nia, i’d like to say how wonderful your son has been, he is well-respected in Polis, and is a powerful advocate for your clan. I would have trusted no one else to lead me here after your man attacked me at the Commander’s peace summit.” She glanced toward Ontari, the young woman fixing her with fathomless eyes. 

“My man?” The queen said flatly. “I’ve heard no such thing. But one expects the false Commander to spread lies. I heard she told you it was a kill order I placed on your head as well.”

“Who can know the motives of a dead man,” Roan interjected lightly. “The assailant had the markings of Azgeda this is true, but of course he was acting of his own free will. Wanheda knows that no loyal Azgeda would be so foolish as to bring the Commander of Death to our door unless it was as a friend, and ally.”

“That’s why we are here,” Bellamy said beside her. Clarke turned to look at him, his dark eyes steady as he addressed the Queen. “We come as friends, and to remain friends with the signing of the peace treaty.” 

The Queen pulled her attention from Clarke and focused on Bellamy, her eyes studying the young man across from her. “Bellamy kom Skaikru, they tell stories of you as well.”

Clarke watched Bellamy crack a wry smile, “all deserved i’m sure,” he said, his hands folded in front of him. 

“And what do you think of following a woman that has destroyed so many of your people?” Nia asked, tilting her head like a snake about to bite. 

“I think that peace is complicated, but worth the effort,” Bellamy said, meeting Clarke’s eyes. “You can only answer blood with blood for so long.”

“Yes, child,” Nia smiled gleefully, “at some point you take all the blood your enemy has to give. In Azgeda, we call that winning.”

Laughter drifted down around them and Clarke felt something heavy slide into her stomach. The Queen was making them look naive. She felt Bellamy’s hand on her knee, the light pressure reminding her to stay calm. But Clarke didn’t want to stay calm. She didn’t come all this way to be laughed at. Good thing Bellamy didn’t either. 

“The mountain thought the same.” he said loudly, letting the noise die away, Nia’s smile slipping from her face. “And yet, they are not the ones dining here tonight, are they?”

Nia’s eyes narrowed, sliding between her and Bellamy. The smile gone from her face. “It takes a brave man to love death Bellamy,” she said. Clarke felt her stomach drop as Nia continued, “or perhaps you are simply foolish.” 

Clarke ignored the awkward shifting from Roan and Octavia. She knew her cheeks were flushed in embarrassment, and she couldn’t bear to look over at Bellamy to see his reaction. This was a line they didn’t talk about, this was the thing they only talked around.

But where Clarke could feel her whole body tense, Bellamy simply shrugged in nonchalance. “Oh i don't know, I guess in the right context, death can be a friend." Clarke took a shaky breath, hoping the Queen didn’t notice how much this particular line of conversation was affecting her. In the end, it was Ontari that turned the corner on the uncomfortably conversation. 

“So much talk of friendship,” the nightblood said, her eyes blazing, as she turned to Nia, forcing the Queen’s attention back to her. “They mock us my Queen, they speak of peace when the false Commander seeks to conquer our lands and destroy the Azgeda kru.”

She looked toward Octavia, standing up and leaning her weight on the table as her chair skittered backwards on the stone floor, “they already take lovers from other kru’s, what’s next? Will the Commander of Death spread her legs for your son, so that the Azgeda line is shamed more than it already has been!” 

A clatter to Clarke’s left told her Octavia had slapped her hand down on the table, the knife already curled in her hand. Instead of calming her, Lincoln was grabbing his own and sliding the spoon into her other one. She let her gaze flit to her right and took in Bellamy’s furious expression, now directed toward Roan. 

Clarke bit her cheek until she could taste blood, tamping down the impulse to respond in anger. She had shaken hands with her own insanity more than a few times this year. Trying to reason with Ontari’s madness would be no help at all. Clarke noted that through it all Queen Nia remained serene. Roan simply looked bored. 

Finally, she lifted her long slender hand up to rest on top of the raging woman’s head. The effect was instantaneous. Ontari sat back in her chair, eyes beseeching, and bowed her head at the Queen’s affectionate look. 

The table held its silence. 

The audience above seemed more interested in Skaikru’s reaction than the insults hurled. Clarke let herself relax back into the chair, hoping the others would follow her lead. 

“Wanheda, Skaikru” the Queen said quietly, now stroking Ontari’s light brown hair, soothing the young woman. “Please relax. I hope you don’t take offense, Ontari is simply a passionate woman.”

“Ontari,” Clarke replied, picking up her glass to take another sip of wine. “Needs to be put on a leash, not be given the authority you bestow on her.”

“Wanheda,” Roan said, warningly, “you’re here as an ambassador for a peace treaty, you have no say in how the Queen keeps her court.” 

Clarke ignored Roan, instead watching as the Queen raised an eyebrow at her son’s support. Ontari kept her head down, taking deep, shaky breaths as the Queen continued to idly comfort her.

“It’s no offense my son,” she said finally, waving over the servants as a plates full of meats and cheeses were laid before them. “What can a girl from the cold stars know of the power of the flame?”

“I know the spirits of the Commander’s chose Lexa to be their successor,” Clarke replied evenly. “And I know you are a true believer in their wisdom.” 

“Yes!” Queen Nia said, lifting her hand from Ontari’s hair and pounding it on the table, “As a young woman I once wished to become a flamkepa, to protect the wisdom of the Commanders at all costs!”

“But then, why do you question Lexa’s Command?” Clarke asked sitting forward now, letting the Queen carry on, letting her decide where to put the line. “You send an army south, to challenge the wisdom you claim to respect so much?”

“Ontari was not given the chance!” The Queen said exasperatedly. “Those that seek to influence the chosen Commander, blasphemed the gift of the nightblood by casting her out because they didn’t want to see Azgeda rule again, because they’re afraid of Ice Nation!” Her voice rose up to the rafters and in response the crowd banged against the banisters and walls. Clarke had the feeling she was hearing an argument that had been repeated many times, to the young woman sitting across from her. Told it until there was no other truth to find.

“And here I thought it was because she was batshit crazy?” Octavia drawled from beside Lincoln, her hands now halfway through the leg of turkey on her plate. Apparently once the food had arrived Octavia found her earlier anger at Ontari’s insults less troubling. Or, she was simply eating quickly so she could use the bone as a weapon. 

“O,” hissed Bellamy from her other side. 

Clarke closed her eyes briefly, a headache growing behind her temples. Was it her fate to always be in the middle of the firing range between the Blakes?

“Ontari was meant to receive the flame, and interlopers kept her away from her destiny,” Queen Nia said sourly back to Octavia. “They stole her life. Wouldn’t you be angry if what you had always been promised and trained for was taken away before you were ever given a chance to prove yourself?”

“I was never supposed to have a life,” Octavia said, looking down at her plate, continuing to pick the meat off the turkey leg. She licked the grease off her fingers one by one, her eyes now meeting the Queens. “What I have, i’ve fought for.”

“You see then,” the Queen nodding along. “Ontari was meant to fight in her conclave, in Lexa’s conclave, but was cast out before she could earn her place or die, because they knew she would win. It was treachery of the highest order.” Clarke had to keep from rolling her eyes at the suppositions. 

Nia seemed to notice, and set her cup down, leaning forward now until the candlelight flickered oddly in her silver eyes. “You come with a peace treaty Wanheda, but perhaps I can make an offer of my own.” Clarke tilted her head in apparent interest, indulging the Queen to continue. 

“Should Lexa fall from favor,” Nia began slowly, “Azgeda would be willing to make you, and your Skaikru, part of a new world. Azgeda does not need Skaikru’s few sons and daughters to be given over to battle, like your Commander now demands.”

Clarke blinked, wondering if the Queen had gleaned this information from Roan. He knew how Skaikru chafed at the idea that they could be called to war. But if the Queen thought she was pulling the levers here, she was deadly wrong.

“It is true, that Lexa has made Skaikru the 13th clan,” Clarke said, hoping her voice sounded appropriately angry. “It is not what I wished for my people. With the exception of a few,” Clarke inclined her head toward Octavia, “we were not made to be warriors. We were taught to be survivors, scholars, to heal, to study, to keep safe that which is fragile.”

The Queen nodded, “it was Lexa’s doing, this treachery at the mountain, her army attacking what? A hundred hungry children at your landing site. She’s the architect of your pain...and now your power,” the Queen drawled, her hand outstretched and curled toward Clarke. The same hand that had rested on Ontari’s head. 

Clarke took a shallow breath. This is the part that was hardest to walk. To dismiss the power of Wanheda as just the fury and foolishness of a young girl, would diminish her influence. The illusion of Wanheda was the only card she had to play.

“You are mistaken Queen Nia,” Clarke said, watching her eyes darken, her outstretched hand land back on the table. “Lexa made a choice to protect her people from an enemy, those people included the sons and daughters of Azgeda. I did the same. I had the choice to watch my people die, but I ordered it away. Whatever pain I carry is of my own making.” 

Clarke had lifted her voice at the end, making sure it carried up to every waiting ear. She let the silence hold, then lowered her gaze from the Queen’s narrowed one and picked up her fork to eat, the tick and tack of the metals ringing out. 

“You are more than the legends say Clarke,” the Queen said, low and soft. A compliment and threat just for Clarke’s ears. 

Clarke smiled, and laid down her fork to pick up her wine glass. She brought it up in a toast to the Queen, and said loudly, “I trust that you’ll take that into consideration when we bring forth the peace treaty tomorrow.”

The Queen nodded very slightly, “I look forward to your council Wanheda, we have more in common than I thought.” Nia lifted her cup to the rafters, offering a message to their audience. Her face now a mask of placid delight and goodwill. 

“Wanheda has blessed us with her company tonight, I believe we should show her a good time, don’t you?” She directed her gaze to the balconies above them as raucous cheers rained down. 

Roan smiled stiffly and Ontari raised her head again, her lip split with black blood as she tore at the skin with her teeth. Musicians and dancers filed out into the hall as Clarke took another drink to wet her dry throat, sparing a glance over to Bellamy. 

She kept the glass in front of her mouth. “Are you okay?” She whispered.

Bellamy closed his eyes briefly, and slid a hand around the back of her chair, letting one thumb smooth across her collarbone. She took that for a yes, and let the noise and laughter swell around them as the mad queen and fallen nightblood sat across from her.


	16. Chapter 16

As hungry as Clarke was, the food kept getting stuck in her throat as the dinner dragged on through six courses. Every time she reached for her wine glass she could see Ontari’s eyes tracking her movement. When she looked at the dancers swirling around the floor the candle light would glint off Queen Nia’s bone crown. 

There was something about this place that seemed to dampen reality. A blanket of fresh snow easily covered freshly dug graves or blood spilled onto the earth. The cold snapped the stench of unwashed bodies from the air. It was a pretty illusion. Until you froze to death. 

Clarke almost groaned in relief when Queen Nia stood up and the revelers seemed to melt into the cavernous hall. As they drifted away, Echo finally made her appearance, escorting the Queen away from the table and back to her quarters. She leaned down to whisper quietly in Roan’s ear, then moved on to offer a hand to Nia. Clarke shivered suddenly, the warmth from the movement around her had disappeared, the fires dying out quickly.

“You four should return to your quarters,” Roan said standing up, and walking away from the nightblood’s hunched form, gesturing to them to rise and follow him. Clarke narrowed her eyes. Roan seemed stressed, and it was unnerving after so many days of him acting as though this would be just a fun little lark. 

“What’s the matter Prince? Afraid to leave the sky trash alone with me?” Ontari said, sullenly picking up her wine glass, her hand wavering as she did, drops of red cusping over the edge. 

“I’m sure they’d find your conversation skills lacking natblida,” Roan said, “try not to drink us out of the cellar, more guests will be arriving soon.”

Ontari laughed and Clarke almost broke out in a cold sweat at the sound of it. It was the laugh of someone who was trying it on for size, as though the ability to create it naturally was lost on her. “To peace!” she shouted out, lifting the glass high and bringing it to her lips. Clarke looked back as they walked away, Bellamy’s hand around her waist, to watch the dark red liquid spilling down the woman’s throat. Suddenly the chill in her bones had nothing to do with the cool air.

Clarke tried to shake off the parting image as they walked softly down the stone corridors, now lit by glass orbs that nestled into the hollows of the wall. Luckily, Azgeda kept their footwear practical, even if the evening gowns were not. Clarke wore soft bearskin boots, black as her dress, but thick and warm beneath her tread. 

“Roan, is everything-” Clarke began to ask, but before she could finish her question Roan cut her off.

“All is well Wanheda, i’d rather the conversation not have drifted to such large matters tonight, but swords stayed in their sheaths, and for that it ended better than others,” Roan said. “She wants to see you tomorrow morning though, on your own in her study. I think she finds you interesting, not many around here challenge her.”

“You think that’s smart?” Octavia asked, her dark hair whipping around against the lights, “what if she decides the politics aren’t worth it and just takes Clarke out?”

“As long as I can wear real clothes I won’t be defenseless Octavia,” Clarke said, feeling Bellamy’s arm tighten on her waist, she didn’t look up at him. She knew he had his “stupid plan Clarke” face on, and she didn’t want to be reminded of how exposed they all were. 

“Clarke’s safer alone with her than in front of a crowd,” Roan replied. “The Queen would make sure she had an audience if she was planning on killing you."

“You’re a real comfort to me Roan,” Clarke said, slowing down as she got to Bellamy’s door. 

She didn’t miss Roan’s smirk, or Octavia’s narrowed eyes as Bellamy stopped with her. She was glad for the darkness then, so they couldn’t see the blush creep up her neck. It’s not like Octavia wasn’t pulling Lincoln into her room, and she could feel Bellamy looking skyward in a silent plea to not think too hard about that.

Clarke shook her head, and opened the door, leading Bellamy inside as they bid goodnight to the Prince and their friends. When they stepped inside the room was warm, the fireplace crackling merrily, and it felt like a different world with the colorful red and gold drapes and thick carpets. 

“We’ve come a long way from moldy tents and dropship floors,” Bellamy said quietly. Clarke looked back at him, at the black curls that drifted around his brow, and eyes that were clear and bright and looking at her in a way that almost broke her heart.

“You did alright at the drop ship if I remember correctly,” Clarke said teasingly as she sat down on the bed, taking off the long boots. She hadn’t slept without shoes on in ages, always feeling like she needed to be able to get up and run. But in this maze of a castle, the precious moments to put on shoes wouldn’t be the thing that killed her. 

“Oh, I did more than alright,” Bellamy said, smiling, that shit-eating grin dancing on his face. It looked good to see it once more. 

“Yeah yeah, Mr. What’s wrong with a little chaos,” Clarke laughed, feeling some of the tension lift from the night. “Then you went ahead and adopted 100 delinquents and tried to keep them alive.”

Bellamy nodded, and sat down next to her, proceeding to take his own shoes off. “It’s kept me busy, keeping you alive isn’t exactly a part-time job.” He shook his leg until the last tie loosened and it dropped with a thud to the ground. He took his tunic off next, but laid it nicely along the back of one of the chairs near the hearth. Clarke knew that Bellamy wasn’t used to having such nice things, he wanted to take good care of them. 

Clarke stared at his torso, she’d seen it multiple times of course, in various states of both injury and just plain preening bravado. But while curling up by a fire on the cold ground together while surrounded by their friends felt more like a fight against hypothermia, sleeping together in a room like this, alone, was an entirely different matter. 

Bellamy must have seen the look on her face as she ran her hands down her dress and brought over a thin linen robe that was hanging on the back of the door. “They think of everything,” he said.

“Still no damn place to put a knife,” she replied, but turned to let him nimbly pull apart the buttons on her back of her dress, and as he turned his back she left the dress drop, wrapping the thin robe around her frame. No wonder there were so many blankets on the bed. She jumped into it gleefully, pushing her legs under the covers, and letting her blonde hair fan out on the pillow. 

“Bellamy, if we die tomorrow, sleeping in this bed might be worth it,” she said sighing happily into the blankets. 

Bellamy shook his head disapprovingly, but padded over in bare feet, his pants staying on as he lifted the covers on the other side and shifted his way in. Clarke turned toward him, propping her head up on one arm, and smiled as he tried to fight the look of comfort off his expression. 

“You could just say, ‘Clarke, you’re right,” she said, “it’s a lot easier than pulling a muscle in your face trying to act all sour about it.”

“Fine, you’re right, I can die happy now. I’m in a bed fit for a King, with a Princess. It’s a cliche come true.”

Clarke laughed, “dream big, Bellamy,” she said, falling back against the bed, staring up at the stone ceiling, crossed with beams that must have been there since before the first bombs fell. For a few minutes they just existed there, together. Bellamy’s breaths evened out and for a moment and she felt an indescribable sadness that he’d fallen asleep before curling her into his arms like he did at the campfires. 

“Are we ever going to talk about it,” he asked suddenly. 

Clarke turned her head in surprise, but Bellamy was looking up at the beams now too. “About what?” she asked, the bit of joy at something silly like a big bed deflating out of her. 

“When I asked you to stay after Mount Weather, I never thought it would mean,” he trailed off, “I needed you, and you just, shut me out.” 

Clarke turned her head back to the ceiling sighing in resignation. This was the other shoe she’d been waiting to drop. 

In Arkadia she’d become an expert at hiding. On the road she kept the glances short, the conversation light. At night she took advantage of the comfort Bellamy was offering, hating herself a bit more each day for it, but unable to stop. But now, now in this room with a bed and a door and just the two of them, she owed Bellamy his say.

Bellamy shook his head in frustration, “we pulled that lever together. Did you think I wouldn’t understand what you were feeling? Why did you hide from me?” The fire snapped in time with the tension that had flooded back into the space between then. He still hadn’t looked at her, instead boring a hole into the plaster above them.

“Bellamy, it wasn’t about you,” Clarke said quietly. “I wasn’t really thinking anything for awhile.”

Bellamy squeezed his eyes shut, “do you remember that time we found you behind the electrical paneling of the ark? No one had seen you for three days. Monty and I turned camp upside down trying to find you, even Jasper went out to the drop ship to see if you’d somehow wandered off without the guard noticing.”

Clarke winced. It wasn’t that she remembered, she didn’t. But hearing about it wasn’t easy.

“If Raven hadn’t noticed the electricity getting jumpy in that corridor you could have starved in the walls,” he said, and something so sad crept into his voice that it sprung tears into her eyes. 

“I never meant to scare you,” Clarke began, feeling like she was scrambling for a way to defend herself. “But I walked through those gates, and all I saw was what I had done to get them there, and I didn’t want it staring me in the face.” 

“We saved our people Clarke, I don’t count that as a sin,” Bellamy said, opening his eyes now, and turning toward her, reaching out and grasping the hand that wasn’t still healing. 

“Well I do!” Clarke said harshly pulling it away. She could taste blood in the back of her throat from biting at the inside of her cheek. She felt something hot and angry inside her that chafed at the person she trusted most demanding more than she could give. “You asked me not to leave. You asked me to stay because you needed me there. And for some goddamn reason I didn’t know how to walk away from you. So I found a way to get through the days. I never said you were going to like how it looked.”

“I wasn’t asking you to be okay!” Bellamy shouted, “I was just asking you to be next to me while we were both not okay together.”

They were both sitting up in the bed now, grudges and bitterness showing themselves. The cracks in who they’d become in bright relief. It hurt her in a way she couldn’t quite reach.

“You asked too much then,” Clarke said finally. “I did the best I could Bellamy, I gave everything I had, and there was just nothing left. If you want to hate me for it, go ahead.” Clarke ignored the look that came over him then, the protest that started to grace his lips. She laid back down, turning away and curling up on her side. “I have to fight a Queen, I don’t want to fight you too.”

“Clarke, stop!” Bellamy said, he reached out his hands, turning her back to him, grasping the sides of her face, “Yeah my feelings got hurt, yeah I’m angry at you because you scared the crap of of me. It doesn’t mean I hate you. I’ve never hated you. I didn’t understand what it would cost you to come inside that gate, all I knew is that I didn’t want to lose you too.” 

Clarke leaned into the warm hands. The words were out of her mouth before she really understood them. “But you did lose me Bellamy. Everyday the ground chipped away at who I was, at the person you,” she faltered swallowing hard, “I wasn’t hiding from you Bellamy, I was hiding from Wanheda.”

“Clarke, that’s not true you’re not” he started to say but Clarke cut him off shaking her head in defiance. He’d made a choice to pry the scab off now, and after so long of saying nothing, she couldn’t stop the words falling from her lips. 

“One day, probably tomorrow, i’ll have to make another choice to save our people and you’ll be the one that dies.” she said, watching the blood drain out of his face. “Or someone will come for me and find Raven, or Octavia, or Monty instead. I’ll send Murphy on a suicide mission because he likes to prove he’s indestructible. I’ll drive Jasper fully over the edge and he’ll just go ahead and kill himself. Or i’ll just blow up Arkadia to save them from some other worse fate. Because that’s who I am on the ground. I’m Wanheda.”

“Clarke,” Bellamy said firmly, “you’re not Wanheda. All this pageantry, these delusions about flames, and AI, and nightblood. It’s all just a story. It’s not real,” he said. 

“Stories have power,” Clarke said, and sitting up in the bed, hugging her knees to her chest, the fire’s warmth no longer reaching. “It doesn’t have to be real to be true.”

“No Clarke, this is real,” Bellamy said, his face close to hers, the freckles dancing in front of her eyes. “I want you to want to live. I want you to be here. I want to take on whatever the ground throws at us together, I want,” Bellamy paused, his heart racing to get the words through to her, “I want you.”

“Why?” she asked, tears swimming in her vision. 

“Because you’re Clarke,” he said simply, and his lips met hers and she didn’t pull away. 

She couldn’t have stopped herself from falling into his arms because she’d already been falling for a year. Kissing Bellamy Blake was the best thing she’d ever felt. 

And it would kill her.


	17. Chapter 17

John Murphy slept just fine thank you very much. Granted, he kept more than one knife strapped to him at all times, and another few underneath the mattress, or cot, or lately, jammed into the earth, his hand wrapped around the hilt. The more ways he could injure someone at a moment’s notice, the sounder he slept. 

The rest of Arkadia could call him an asshole, look at him as though he wasn’t worth the jacket on his back. He knew differently. He knew that he may not have Bellamy’s ability to make people follow him, or Clarke’s terrifying logic. 

He couldn’t coax a greenhouse into life like Monty, or make drugs out of literally anything like Jasper. Hell, he knew he couldn’t hold a candle to Harper and Miller’s ability with a gun, and he wasn’t even trying to compare himself to the wonders Raven cobbled together in her shop. 

But he had something none of them did. The ability to survive, literally anything the ground or space threw at him, as long as he wasn’t too concerned about the people he had to step on to save his own skin. 

That was really the key. It was embracing the human nature of “I want to keep breathing, eating, shitting, and fucking more than I will miss that other human being.” Problem was, he kept hanging around these idiots, and feeling like maybe he’d miss one or two of them if they were gone. 

At first it was just Clarke. He’d been loitering around the ark in the first weeks after they all came back from the mountain, scarred, scared, traumatized. But no one could ever seem to find Clarke. You’d catch a glimpse or two of her once a week, but she’d slip her way behind a wall or simply stand mute in front of you until you walked away. 

Until he’d literally tripped over her in a utility closet, her hair a jumbled, matted, bloody red mass from the cracked skull she’d suffered. By the crack in the wall he was guessing she had rammed it into the wall repeatedly. 

Any other person, he might have just left them there. But instead he found Jackson. They sewed her up, and because she didn’t sleep anyway, Murphy took to following her around for the next four days. Making sure the concussion didn’t make her pass out and crack it open again.

A few days after that the he caught her fingering the stitches along her hairline, staring at the blood-red tresses in a confused daze. She looked at him with even more curiosity. She didn’t remember doing it he realized. Clarke Griffin was in a world of her own making now. 

He should have gotten Bellamy and told him. He was walking around the camp like some forlorn puppy that’d been kicked. But instead he dropped hints to Clarke about a place in Raven’s shop that would be nice to take a nap in. And among dirty jokes and slipped flasks of moonshine among rations she ate without realizing it, he steered her toward it, letting her go in without either woman realizing he had orchestrated it. 

He’d grown fond of messed up Clarke. She hated herself, and he knew all about hating yourself. He’d found a sister in a way, and while the perfect, know-it-all Princess he’d met at the drop ship was the antithesis of himself, this altered Clarke, this dry, biting, wild-eyed and at times saucy woman was someone he wanted to hang out with. 

Then, there was Raven. As much as he hated to admit it, he felt pretty terrible when she started to limp more as it got colder, or when she seemed to have to catch her breath from the pain in the morning as she sat up.

It would be easier if she would be angrier at him, if she cut him out of the group. That he could understand. But instead she kept talking to him, joking with him, making him interact and join in on “group activities.” It was annoying as hell because there was no good way to say no to the girl you had crippled for life. 

Which is why, as the rover full of delinquents rumbled it’s way into Azgeda territory while the rest of their team was at a fancy dinner, Murphy was apparently agreeing to help the crazy mechanic sneak into a castle. A castle guarded by a lot of giant, angry grounders with swords that made his many knives feel very inadequate. And he was doing it because Raven Reyes looked at him with those dark, giant eyes, and told him that Echo had radioed, and that Clarke needed their help. 

Yeah. Survival only works if you don’t care. So he was screwed. 

***  
Roan paced the cavernous hallways while his guests slept, or, he was pretty sure, did the opposite of sleeping. Clarke had done well that evening, he could tell his Mother had respected the young woman, there was a familiarity there between them. A shared strength of spirit, a single-minded focus on their goal, and who’d they’d step on to get it. 

But while four of the sky children laid warm in their beds, the rest of them were still out there, and Echo had informed him at dinner that two of them were now hidden inside a closet on the eastern wing, along with a dead Azgeda guard.

Roan paused at the juncture of the long hallway, where it intersected to lead to his mother’s quarters, and Ontari’s. It rankled him how close she’d managed to dig her nightblood hands into his Mother’s mind. The Queen had always been ruthless, but devoted to the flame’s history. But then she’d found the natblida, and had been convinced that Ontari was the true heir. And so began her slow descent into their current predicament. 

Roan rolled his shoulders back, turning his still-bruised face away from the softly-lit hall, and down the colder, unused wing. The hobbled sky witch and the rat that was always scurrying after her had managed to make it into the castle with a bit of deception, and now they’d be helping him with his next chore.

He tapped lightly on the door, “it’s Roan,” he said softly, opening the door slowly, incase they were armed and jumpy. Skaikru guns were still something that made him wary. 

“It’s about damn time your highness,” the one called Murphy said, shoving the dead guard towards Roan, the corpse’s weight staggering him back.

“Do your people not know the concept of heat?” Raven said from the back of the closet. It was true, the beauty’s lips had a sheen of blue to them, and she was standing up slowly as Murphy went back to her, helping her up to lean against him. The injury she carried with her worsened by the temperature and the odd position they’d been forced to keep.

“Many apologies, this wing is not used, so it’s not heated. Which makes you lucky, as anywhere else you would have been found, and all your friends killed,” he said, pulling the guard over to the stack of carpet and burying him beneath them. 

“That’s going to smell eventually,” Raven said.

“Yes, i’m sure that will be unpleasant for you,” Roan said, handing Murphy a pack. 

“What this?” Murphy said, ripping open the drawstrings. 

“Some food and drink to warm you, and blankets to keep you that way. Echo was smart to bring you to these rooms, the Queen demands that no one go here, and few look to anger her.” 

“Roan, what’s this?” Raven asked, pulling out the vial he had placed in the bag, its glass stopper was in the shape of a wolf, a creature that no longer roamed this earth as far as Roan knew. 

“Clarke put on a good show tonight, but the Queen seems less inclined than i’d wish to sign the treaty,” Roan said. “Her anger at the Commander has reached a fever pitch.”

“So what, you need us to poison dear old Mom?” Raven asked, grasping the little bottle and taking a step toward him, “I thought killing her was your job if this all went south?”

“No,” Roan said, perturbed at the implication. “I need to you to take out the Natblida. She’s already gained too much influence at court.” He gestured to the bottle in Raven’s hand. “A few drops of this in your evening drink will make you wish you were dead. A whole vial will make sure of it.”

“Too scared to take out the girl yourself Roan?” Raven asked, looking curiously at the glass. 

“There’s a reason they excommunicated her, instead of risking her killing one of the more stable candidates, like Lexa. But I can’t get close to her, our animosity towards each other is too well known.”

“Some hero you are,” Murphy said. 

“I’m not a hero child, I’m a King in waiting, and Kings delegate the business of dying to others.”

“What about our friends?” Raven said, carefully placing the vial into the pocket of her red jacket and digging into the bag again to get the rations. “Miller has the Rover parked two miles back in the woods.”

“Echo has made sure only guards watching that portion of the woods are loyal to me. Get this done, and she’ll find you, and get you back out of the castle to join your kru and continue in for the peace signing as planned.”

“So we’re just giving up on Clarke convincing the Queen to sign?” Murphy asked, busying himself with the extra blankets Roan had packed them, and opening up the ration bars. 

“Didn’t Wanheda call you the plan B?” Roan said quietly. “If the Queen decides not to sign there’s nothing stopping her from ordering Ontari to make Clarke’s head the first course at dinner. And then i’ll be forced to kill both the Nightblood, and the only family I have left in this world. But if Ontari is out of the picture, she loses the best card she has to play for Polis. She loses the argument that she’s marching Azgeda forces to Polis in pursuit of the purity of the flame. She loses the faith of those considering leaving the conclave. Giving you all the chance to walk out of here unscathed. ”

“Oh Roan,” Murphy said with a sneer, “you big softie.”

“What makes you think we can get close to her? Raven asked, her mouth full of the tough bread, ignoring the pissing contest. 

“Thought you were a genius, little bird.” Roan said, smiling darkly. “I trust you’ll find a way. Those clothes will help you fit in, and there are enough extra guests here for the signing that another unfamiliar face or two won’t be anything of note.”

“So it won’t be a problem that Ontari’s found dead in her room before the signing?” Raven asked skeptically.

“Ontari is well-known to love wine, and to threaten the local healer for things to make her evenings more...interesting. It isn’t out of the realm of possibilities for her to over-indulge, and maybe this time it’s out of the healer’s hands to rouse her.”

“Some plan,” Murphy said, shaking his head and leaning back on the set of carpets that didn’t hold the rolled up body.

“War is harder,” Roan replied. “Sleep well, and kill silently sky children.”

He ignored Raven’s nasty look and slipped back out of the room, closing the door behind him. He graced his palm over the stag insignia carved into the frame, then shook his head, and continued down the path. 

The faint sounds of late revelers in the courtyard hiding the sounds of static on a radio drifting among them.


	18. Chapter 18

Clarke woke up in Bellamy’s arms. She was facing the window, the pre-dawn light filtered in softly. She tried to shut her eyes and fall back into the little bit of heaven she’d found, wrapped up in his arms. For the first time since the mountain, there had been no nightmares. 

But while she might feel safe, the envelope on the table near the bed alerted her to the fact that although her and Bellamy had found a way back to each other, and more, their problems still waited for them outside the little haven they’d created. 

She slipped out of his arms, leaving Bellamy to roll over in his sleep, muttering as he dove his face back into the blankets to block out the encroaching light. Clarke watched him a moment longer, debating waking him up, but decided that he deserved whatever sleep he got.

The piece of paper was well worn, indentations and marks erased and written many times. Clarke opened it up, to read the invitation written in careful, small letters. 

Wanheda,

Third floor, fourth door on the right.

-Nia, Queen of Azgeda 

Stuck lightly to the page was a badge, most likely to let her roam the castle freely. Clarke shivered in the cooled air, the fire now just embers. She wondered who had been able to leave something next to them while they slept, and how easily they could have killed them in their sleep. But something that bugged her more than their glaring lack of safety, was her curiosity. Clarke was intrigued by Queen Nia. 

She only knew the Queen as a woman who hungered for power, as the person who’d taken Costia’s life, but then, most of the world outside this room only knew her as the Commander of Death. If there was a side to the Ice Queen that could thaw, that could be convinced to yield to Lexa, Clarke wanted to try and meet her. 

She slipped off the bed, and quietly started to pull on the more sensible clothes that had been left on the chair. She kept the tall, black moccasins from the evening before, but instead of a gown, she pulled on leather pants lined with fur, and a blue long-sleeved shirt. A tan vest, also lined with dark fur went on over it, a worn belt to cinch it closed. Clarke braided her hair back and glanced over to Bellamy, still sleeping. 

She had thought she’d known everything there was to know about Bellamy Blake. Last night had proved her wrong. She trailed a hand down her neck as she bound a piece of string around the braid, remembering when his lips had been there, when her fingers had pulled at the curls on his head, when his hands spanned her entire back sending shivers up her spine, as she fit her body along his. She wondered what the main course was like, when what they’d done last night could make her feel like fire in a castle made of ice. 

But it’d been enough, more than enough really. To know she could even feel that way again, to feel wanted, to be something other than a piece on the board. It scared her though, he was everything she wanted, everything she needed, but was she what he needed? She took a step forward, but in the end she was a coward. She didn’t want to risk ruining the memories of last night with an argument this morning, even if he’d be mad that he’d woken up to an empty bed. 

She backed out of the room, softly clicking the door shut, waiting a moment in case Bellamy barreled out the door. She lingered by Octavia and Lincoln’s room a moment, wondering if the couple was awake, but instead decided they deserved the same peace she and Bellamy had stolen for themselves. 

As Clarke wandered down the stairs she passed servants hauling wood for fireplaces, and plates of food for breakfast. Almost all of them, upon recognizing her would hastily back into walls and avoided her gaze. A large form covered in a green cloak brushed passed her roughly, smelling of sour wine. One poor girl dropped the entire tray of food, squeaking in terror as she literally ran in the opposite direction.

Clarke was going to call out to her, but instead she scooped up the bread and apple from the floor, dusted them off and ate it as she roamed the castle. Finally, after two wrong turns and a complicated issue involving being mistaken for a scullery maid, she made it to the Queen’s study. 

She was only certain of it because it was guarded by two imposing men with actual scythes. Clarke stood in front of them, idly eating the rest of her apple as they stared back at her. Should she get a scythe? It seemed like an appropriate weapon for the Commander of Death. Finally, she finished the core, and handed it and the badge to the guard. He sighed, took it, then knocked on the door. Queen Nia’s voice came back through, a muffled “let her in.”

The guard twisted the doorknob and moved back to let Clarke through, she ignored his slight shudder as she passed him, and went down a few steps into the sunken floor. As the door closed shut she was once again embraced in the warmth of a sumptuously decorated, and thankfully heated room. 

Clarke wondered if this had been an original room to the home. It certainly looked a lot like the archived vids she and her dad would watch up on the Ark. Instead of pale white oak, everything was a deep mahogany, large bookcases reached to the ceiling, filled with more volumes than Clarke had ever seen in her life. Portraits leaned against them, plush carpets layered the floor, and as Clarke’s eyes adjusted to the candlelight in the room, she made out the silver hair peeking above the top of a leather chair. Its empty brother across from it at a large fireplace, the mantle made of the same darker wood, with a large sword resting on top. 

“That was King Theo’s sword, my grandfather.” Queen Nia said. Her body was wrapped up in white again, but this time it was just layers of soft furs over simple wool pants and a cream tunic. She hunched over a small writing table, a book open in front of her. 

“And the books?” Clarke asked, making her way over to the empty chair, settling into the plush leather. Everything was so soft here, the hard edges masked with blankets and warmth. 

“Some are original to the home, most have been gathered as time went on. My grandfather was someone that enjoyed learning, he worried that the progress of the past would be lost forever if we did not try to save some of the knowledge,” she said, reaching over to set a thin piece of wood to mark her place, and closed the book.

“Sounds like he was a scholar, like Skaikru,” Clarke said, folding her hands in her lap and meeting the queen’s gaze straight on. Nia seemed different this morning, her expression calm, her eyes clear and steady. She could’ve been having breakfast with her own mother. 

“Yes, but I think you’re proof that academics are just as capable of wielding sharper weapons,” Nia said calmly. 

“We do what we must,” Clarke said, “but as I told you last night, it’s not our first desire. We were, quite literally, dropped into the middle of a conflict we knew nothing about a year ago.” Nia smiled knowingly, nodding her head to Clarke’s refrain. 

“I’ll admit, when I heard about the people from the sky I was very curious as to what you’d be like,” Nia said, the scars along her face lifting with the twitch of her lips. 

“And,” Clarke prompted.

“Troublesome, deadly, naive, stubborn, dangerous, remarkable” Nia said, waving a hand, “take your pick.”

“I did, remember?” Clarke said, “I chose deadly.”

“You sure did kid,” Nia said, huffing a laugh, startling Clarke with the endearment.

“Nia, what do you want?” Clarke asked, crossing her arms back around her, disliking the feeling that the Queen knew how to put her off balance. “We came here because you wanted the peace treaty delivered by Wanheda. I’ve done exactly that. But you don’t seem too interested in what I have to say about my loyalties, or inclined to sign it.”

“I thought i’d made my desires very clear last night?” Nia said, putting on an innocent look, “Lexa dead. Ontari with the flame. My son ruling Azgeda. Myself advising Ontari in Polis.”

“To what end?” Clarke asked, “is it just the power? Or the proximity to the AI that motivates you?”

Nia’s smile deepened, “whatever could you mean sky child?”

Clarke sighed, “Queen Nia, I don’t want to disrespect your beliefs, but you can’t be blind to what the Flame really is? With all these books around you, a scholar for a grandfather, this close to the history of what we all were. The Flame isn’t the will of ghosts, it’s a data chip. It’s not magic, it’s science, like the science that helped my people survive in space.”

“Ah, I’m aware of what the flame is, Wanheda,” Nia said, lifting the cup to her lips, “tea?”

“No...thank you,” Clarke said haltingly, clasping and unclasping her hands. She was feeling, once again, out of step but somehow beholden to good manners. “I’m sorry, but if you understand that, why are you doing this?”

Nia didn’t answer her right away, instead looking up at the mantle, her gaze traveling from the sword to a painting of an Azgeda child, a girl playing in the snow, her furs swirling around her as she twirled in a field. 

“Power is a funny thing, isn’t it Clarke?” she asked, still staring at the little painting. 

“Excuse me?” Clarke said.

“You asked me, is it the AI? Or the Power?” Nia reminded her kindly. “I’m trying to explain, and you need to keep up.”

Clarke snapped her mouth shut at the retort that welled up in her. She had come here expecting another crazed speech about spirits and flames and the will of commanders. Instead, she felt like she was getting a lesson in political discourse and data tech, from a scarred Ice Queen. 

“Good,” Nia nodded, pleased with her silence. “I told you last night that growing up I wanted only to be an acolyte of the flame. It entranced me. I remember following my grandfather around these halls and listening to him tell tales of its power. Of how a nightblood could live forever inside of it, finding new life with each Commander, seeing the world continue.” 

“Interesting bedtime stories,” Clarke said, looking at the painting of the girl again. 

“Yes, they were,” she said softly. “I remember each and every one. And I told them all to my daughter as well, before she died.”

Clarke snapped her attention back the queen’s face. There were no tears in the eyes, but rather a wistful expression, a sorrow Clarke knew had yet to touch her own heart.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. Roan never mentioned a sister,” she said.

Nia nodded, “he wouldn’t have, he knows how it pains me to speak of her, for all his weaknesses, he is a good son.” 

“How did she die?” Clarke asked.

“She was a nightblood,” Nia said, “it’s lucky for a family to have one, and it brought great joy to my father that I gave birth to her. We would finally have both a Queen and a Commander as one. Azgeda would cement itself as the seat of power for all of what remained of North America. But, like the vast majority of nightblood children, she died during her conclave.”

“Not Lexa’s conclave?” Clarke replied, horror filling her, if Lexa was responsible for the Queen’s daughter’s death, then they’d been sent on a suicide mission.

“No, two Commander’s before her. They don’t last very long, i’m afraid,” Nia said, inclining her head toward Clarke, “I wouldn’t get too attached to Lexa, even if I don’t rip that Flame from her neck myself, it will happen to her sooner rather than later my dear.”

Clarke rolled her eyes at the saccharine tone, “you’re too smart to just want vengeance Nia,” she said. “You’ve fooled the Commanders for a while now I think, pretending to pray to something you understand is just technology. Lexa misunderstood your motivations.” 

“That’s certainly true,” Nia said, nodding her head.

“Enough with the riddles,” Clarke said flatly. “I’m tired of grounders wrapping everything up in a story, as though it changes the end result. Either you sign that peace treaty and recall your army, or i’ll use whatever power crushing the mountain bestowed on me, to crush you.”

“Large words, small woman,” Nia said, setting her tea back on the side table with a rattle. 

“It was a big mountain."

Nia raised an eyebrow, “Okay Ms. Griffin, no more riddles, how about show and tell?” She said, pulling a thin gold chain from the folds of her tunic. She opened it gently, reverently, to reveal a small, clear bit of plastic. Clarke’s breath caught in her throat as the recognition of what she was looking at began to make sense. 

“That’s a memory chip,” Clarke said, “i’ve seen those before on the Ark, we used them in the archive library.”

“Something like that, yes,” Queen Nia said, “it’s a few generations before the tech that houses the consciousness of our Commanders, but it can be paired with it.”

Clarke looked up sharply, searching the Queen’s face, as something slid into focus. Nia had been Queen nearly 30 years. She had survived and kept her people safe against great odds, and an ever changing power structure in Polis. She had been raised not just with the stories of the flame, but with the knowledge of the science behind it. She had a nightblood daughter. 

“You put a flame in your daughter’s head,” Clarke said, as the Queen looked up at her, smiling sadly. 

“From nearly the moment she was born, yes.” 

“To what end Nia?” Clarke asked in wonder, looking back at the little chip, wondering if a soul could just be a bit of zeros and ones. 

“She was born ill. I wanted to hide her, but my father decreed that she’d fight in the conclave like all the others. That the chance of putting a commander allegiant to the Kingdom of Azgeda was too good an opportunity,” Nia said, her thumb painting circles around thin gold rim of the locket. “But she was always so small, and slight, and I knew she wouldn’t win the conclave. I knew my daughter was destined to die a terrible death in that ring, and I wanted to give her a chance to live on, to go beyond.”

“How? How is that even possible?” Clarke asked, sitting back in her chair, her head swimming with the implications.

“The Flame acts like a resource for every Commander, they can draw on the memories and understandings, but they still have autonomy. They still have free will. But when this chip is paired with the flame, Louisa would take power, she would be in control of Ontari, instead of just a passenger,” Nia said, snapping the locket closed and placing it back over her neck as she looked back up at Clarke. 

“When Ontari dies, my daughter’s consciousness will continue on in the next Natblida chosen, and the next, and the next, able to live the life, the lives, she deserved, the life I failed to give her the first time around, because I listened to the selfish, shortsighted men around me,” Nia said, her hands grasped in front of her, the long nails digging into the skin. 

Clarke pondered the Queen, letting all the things she knew about Queen Nia add up to complete the equations. “You were never going to sign that peace treaty were you?” Clarke asked, feeling like she was rooted to the chair. “Just like Lexa luring me to the peace summit, you just wanted Wanheda here, for Ontari.”

“Yes child, i’m sorry but, you will die in Azgeda, for Azgeda,” Nia said, her eyes kind, “but I thank you for coming here, for trying, it will make it easier in the end I think, it gives her more credence, less lives will be lost on the way to take Polis. More people will bow, instead of fight.” 

“Was it ever about your people?” Clarke asked, trying to keep hold of her, trying to find a piece of something to use against her. If she could at least get Bellamy out. Keep her friends safe. 

“My people?” Queen Nia responded hollowly. “I gave my people everything I was. I have slaughtered in their name. I cloaked my scientific beliefs in the dogma of faith. I have lured young and brave men and women to their deaths,” she said, her eyes lingering on Clarke. “I would do it all again you know, but they asked for my child, and after that, I decided that I owed them nothing, and would take what I wanted, and I want my daughter back.”

Nia sat back in her chair, the confession having brought color to her chalky cheeks. Clarke stared back out the window, the sun had risen high in the sky.

“So, what now?” Clarke asked, feeling detached from the discussion. Shouldn’t she be be scared? 

“Now? Now you enjoy the day, your last one,” Nia said, picking up her cup of tea.

“And then you kill me?” Clarke asked.

“And then Ontari kills you,” the Queen corrected her.

“Does she know?” Clarke asked, “she loves you so much, does she know you’re just using her?

Nia waved a hand in front of her, “The Flamkepas were right to send her out of the Conclave. She could never be a Commander, too many voices already whisper in her head to add a host more. In a way, once Louisa controls her, she’ll be at peace.”

“Voiceless, trapped, just like Lexa will be if you attach that chip to the Flame,” Clarke retorted.

“Careful Clarke,” Nia said, her eyes cold, “I meant what I said last night. I don’t need your people as warriors, but only if you play your part. Your silence, and sacrifice tonight will buy their future,” Nia said, making sure Clarke understood, the stakes on the table. The single choice in front of her.

“Why are you telling me all this?” Clarke asked curiously, “why not just surprise me with a beheading at dinner?”

“I respect you Clarke, more than Lexa apparently does. The truth is an important thing, and you should know you die for a greater purpose than a fanatical queen.”

“And what’s to stop me from killing you now?” Clarke asked, feeling the cold blade of her knife down the small of her back. 

“Do you want to kill me Clarke?” Queen Nia asked, sitting back in her chair, eyes wide and beseeching. “Now, when i’ve given you the key to your people’s safety? More than Lexa ever could, I would say.”

Clarke’s mind raced, trying to find a way out. It was the word that Nia had said though, the key, that shot a hot poker of misery through her. 

“No,” she said finally, softly. “I don’t want more blood on my hands.”

Nia reached out a hand, grasping Clarke’s curled one in her lap. “Play your part tonight, and I can give you that. No more choosing who lives and who dies. No more risking the lives of your people for some chance at peace. You need only let what was always going to happen, happen.” Queen Nia said, looking back now at the little portrait on the wall. “It’s rare that people like us get to choose our ending Clarke. Embrace it. I will ask Ontari to make it as painless as possible.”

Clarke stood then, not waiting for a dismissal, Nia had already turned away from her, knowing she had her answer. 

She walked toward the door and opened it slowly, every movement feeling strange and fuzzy as she stepped into the corridor. She was used to running on adrenaline. On figuring out the next move. But there were no moves left to make. All the pieces had already been assembled on the board. 

There was a child in a locket. A nightblood with a knife. Six people in a rover. Two siblings and a grounder perhaps just stirring. There was a prince. There was a Queen. 

There was Wanheda, drifting down the hallway like the ghost she would soon become.


	19. Chapter 19

Bellamy had woken up to a cold bed, the memories of Clarke laying among them hanging about his dreams. He’d gotten dressed, made the bed, added wood to the fire until the room felt almost too warm, and now there was nothing left to do but accept that he’d have to roam this damn castle until he found her. 

The knock at the door brought him to his feet, but it was Octavia and Lincoln on the other side, not Clarke.

“Big brother, sleeping in?” Octavia asked, her dark eyes flashing brightly, two swords crossed in sheaths across her back, the hilts acting almost like wings. 

“No, waiting for Clarke to come back from her meeting with Nia,” he said, running a hand through his curls, “have you two seen her?”

“No, but we were heading down to train in the courtyard, some the Azgeda guards wanted a lesson in Trikru fighting style, and offered to share some lessons in sword work,” Lincoln said.

“We’re playing the part of peaceful emissaries, remember?” Octavia said sprightly, “and we can look for Clarke on the way, she’s probably discovered yet another life-threatening situation to launch herself into.” 

His sister turned and strode down the hallway, and Bellamy looked at Lincoln. The man had one of those infuriating half-smiles on his face that clearly said, “i’ll follow her into the pits of hell and keep her warm even then.”

“Echo will be there, if anyone has a chance of knowing where Clarke is, it’s the spy,” Lincoln said helpfully, turning to follow Octavia. 

Bellamy nodded, running back into the room to grab his pistol before following them out into the cold bright sunshine of the day.

***

“Again!”

“Strike.”

“Forward”

“Again!”

Echo’s commands clipped out in the cold air. Noises seem to travel quicker up here. Every clash of metal from the swords rang out across the field. Bellamy felt like he could hear people muttering from yards away. Whispers were not easily hidden in a place like this. 

Echo’s own daggers caught him under the throat. He paid for his distraction with a quick kick to the back of his knee as she brought him to kneel. “A mistake like that can be fatal Bellamy,” Echo said, releasing him as quickly as she had held him, drifting away to circle around once more.

“Bellamy always had his head in the stars,” Octavia said from his right, her black hair whipping around as she easily parried and returned the Azgeda warrior’s strikes. “Even when we lived up on the Ark.”

“Well, someone was always listening for footsteps outside the door,” Bellamy retorted angrily, his cheeks flushed. He knew he was middling to fair with the sword, but he itched to get on the firing range or draw one of these soldiers into hand-to-hand. “Besides, i’m the one that stole you that book of Tai-Chi from the ark library. You should thank me for the muscles you came down with.”

“Thank. You. Big. Brother.” She spoke out haltingly, charging ahead for a final blow, knocking out the guard, although Bellamy wondered if he hadn’t leaned into the punch a little, if not for a bit of respite from the aggressive woman. 

“You Blakes are a strange pair,” Echo said, but looked toward Lincoln as she did, her eyes narrowing as she saw who he spoke to. Bellamy was still in the straw covered mud, taking a rest as his breath made puffs of mist swirl into the air. 

“Friend of yours?” Bellamy asked, as he took in the heavily scarred man, his arms crossed as he spoke to Lincoln. The latter staring intently at Octavia as he listened. A year ago Bellamy would have itched at the kind of attention he paid his sister, now, he was thankful there was someone he could trust to watch over her, even if it was to turn her into a finely edged knife. She would be a knife that could take care of herself. 

“He is no friend,” Echo said, “and that is what concerns me. I used to know every ranking soldier in the royal guard.”

“Well,” Bellamy said, finally rolling up to his shoulders, and heaving his aching body to his feet, “you’ve been gone almost two years right? There’s bound to be some new faces.”

Echo remained silent, but walked back to his front. “Again.”

“I’m good,” Bellamy said, shaking his head. “I’m really okay with the idea that I suck at wielding a sword. I’ve made my peace with it. I can move on with my life.”

“It may be the thing that stops you from moving on with your life,” Echo said firmly. “But,” and she slammed her sword into the near frozen ground, and raising her hands up to a fighting stance, “hand-to-hand is also an acceptable form of practice.”

“Great.” Bellamy said, almost sighing as the first punch landed to his back, right on the still healing arrow wound. “Ugh,” he groaned out, dropping back to his knee, Echo leaned in close and he shifted his weight, twisting around to miss the second punch. 

“There’s something else that worries me,” Echo said, reading his movements and dodging cleanly out of the way as he swung his way back to standing. She was quiet about it, speaking only loud enough for him to hear her as she came in tight, jabbing a series of punches into his rib cage. 

“Can you tell me what it is while I can still breath?” Bellamy heaved, moving inward with a strike of his own to her left shoulder. But she easily absorbed the blow and slipped to the side before he could land another to her stomach. 

“The men in the garrison believe that Ontari has taken a lover, she’s been seen with a strange man, not Azgeda,” she said, bringing her fists up to her face in a fighting stance, but using them to hide her mouth. 

Bellamy managed to grab her next swing and twisted it behind her back, bracing her arm against his stomach, the back of her head near his mouth. “Is that suppose to concern me?” Bellamy asked, keeping her in close and she struggled lightly to make it look like he was putting more pressure into the hold than he was.

“It should. Ontari used to be singularly focused on the Queen, her loyalty without question, her motives understandable.” She swept his legs out from under him, letting gravity do her work for her as Bellamy slammed back on the hard ground, the air punched from his lungs. 

“And now?” he managed to gasp out, as she circled above him, her light brown hair and dark eyes shadowed in the sun behind her.

“Now,” she said, kneeling down, and offering him her hand, he grasped it, rising up slightly so she could keep her voice low, “perhaps her loyalties have shifted, and perhaps she’s taken other’s with her.”

“What does that mean?” Bellamy said, holding his awkward position, half sitting up, half Echo crouched over him.

“It means I can’t predict what she will do. And that’s dangerous.” She said, pulling him up, and lightly dusting off his training tunic, as he grasped his shoulder, rotating the joint slowly to get feeling back into it. 

“I thought training was suppose to calm me down.” Bellamy looked away from Echo and up to the blazing white castle, the glare of the light bouncing off it so harshly for a moment he felt blinded.

“Bellamy,” Echo said, her hands resting her hands on his shoulder now, “I’ll do what I can, but snow shifts easily here. We cannot count on the plans we laid to stay true. And I don’t know if I trust Roan to kill his mother if the signing goes wrong tonight, it is not such an easy thing for him. He does not hunger for the power of the crown in the same way others might.”

The idea that they were losing their grasp on any semblance of this plan, like so many other times before settled heavily in his stomach. When this happened Clarke seemed to always take the fall. He didn’t want to risk losing her again to some terrible last choice. 

“I get it Echo. We’re in danger,” Bellamy said, ashamed at how petulant he sounded. He had yet to see Clarke today, and the memory of her lips on his was tearing at his focus. 

Echo contemplated him, “from what i’ve learned of you and your friends, trusting Wanheda has seemed to keep you alive more than not.” She took her hands off him, settling them behind her back. 

“So you’re saying it will all work out?” Bellamy tried to inject something cavalier into his voice, trying to hide the panic that crept into his tone. He followed her as she walked to where they had thrown some of the heavier layers of furs on fence posts as the workout warmed them. 

Echo’s mouth was a thin straight line, as she swung her heavy cloak around her back, tying it around her slim waist so the lines matched up to lay open around the swords she sheathed in their scabbards. “I'm saying I trust Clarke's motives," She handed him his jacket, stepping in close, "I'm saying I don't know if I trust the Queen or Ontari's. 

Bellamy felt a chill run through his body that had nothing to do with the sweat drying on his brow in the freezing air. She nodded to him once, and walked away, the men lingering around jumping out of her way. She may think her influence was slipping, but there didn’t seem to be any around that wanted to be an obstacle to the Queen’s favorite spy. 

Bellamy watched her go, willing his heart to return to normal, the rapid beating owed not to the exertion on the field, but the fear that coursed through him now as Echo’s strange missives bounced around his brain. The woman had a knack for giving him an ear worm. 

It’s what made him take the stairs a little faster through the castle. The drumbeat of something dark ringing in his ears. He was so caught up looking for Clarke he missed the sounds of two people slipping along the corridor behind him as he disappeared in the opposite direction. 

Raven opened her mouth to get his attention, but was suddenly grasped from behind, her head slammed into the wall. Murphy had been picking the lock of a servant’s door that led to Ontari’s rooms. The vial in the pack around his front. 

Murphy jumped up, dropping the pick on the floor to ram into their assailant, as blood pooled around Raven’s head. The attacker, wrapped up in a musty green cloak, went down with a grunt. 

Murphy managed to get his hands around the man’s throat, and focused on choking the air out of his lungs, but he was at a disadvantage. This man was well trained, and not in the grounder sword, but in a style Murphy associated with the Ark’s guards. And they had beaten him up a lot. It didn't take much for Murphy to suddenly be on his back, the click of a gun against raven’s head stilling his struggling. Only the man’s mouth was visible in the shadow of the hood over his head, crooking in a smirk that made Murphy’s blood run cold. 

He said nothing, just pointed to the door on the right side of the hall, motioning for Murphy to grab Raven and get up. Murphy almost laughed in panicked relief as Raven moaned at the movement, her eyes opening slightly to look questioningly into Murphy’s. He shook his head to keep quiet. 

“Move.” The man said, “open that door.”

“Why? So you can kill us there instead of in the hallway?” Murphy spit out. Trying to move his frame in front of Raven’s, while supporting her leg. 

“Big night tonight,” the man replied, “I want Wanheda to see all her friends die at the same time. Otherwise it will ruin the surprise. Now move.”

“Wait, I know,” Raven started to say but Murphy tugged her back, trying to make her understand that they didn’t need to give him a reason to change his mind about killing later, instead of now. Her eyes slitted in pain from what Murphy guessed was going to be a sizable concussion. 

Murphy had finally swung open the door the figure had motioned to, it revealed only a long empty storehouse at the bottom of a winding set of stairs. 

“Get in,” the hooded man said. Murphy moved to follow orders, survive in the moment, figure it out later was the cockroach credo. 

“Wait,” the mad said suddenly, grabbing Murphy’s chest and knocking him off balance, there was no railing on the stairs, and he had both hands wrapped around Raven’s waist. 

“I’ll take this,” he said, ripping the pack off of Murphy's chest, the vial of poison still in it. 

Raven’s eyes widened in recognition as the man’s hood fell back and he let go of Murphy’s chest. They pitched backwards down the stairs, the steps jarring against them as they tumbled down. Their assailant watched for a moment as the unconscious couple laid at the bottom of the steps, collected around each other in a broken way. 

Then he swung the door closed, locking it, and them behind it. Big castle. Dark dungeon. Screams weren’t meant to be heard behind this door. It was Ontari’s favorite room after all. 

The man replaced the hood around his head, sweeping him once more into the shadows, the vial nestled in the palm of his hands. 

The wind was picking up, the snow was about to fall. 

He was going to be late to meet his man if he didn’t hurry. 

And there was still much to do before he could give Wanheda everything she deserved.


	20. Chapter 20

Monty missed his greenhouse. He missed being warm and having the option of walking to the mess hall for food that wasn’t travel rations. He missed not being stuck in a rover with three other people whose bodies were starting to get increasingly rank. But, he was pretty sure the thing he missed most was not being enraged by the person that had been his best friend. 

They were parked two miles back into the woods, the rover sinking into the multiplying snow all day after they’d arrived this morning. Raven and Murphy had managed to sneak into the castle with Echo’s help, and now Monty, Harper, Miller, and Jasper had nothing to do but wait for them to get back. Raven had at least managed to radio to let them know they had gotten into the castle alive, and would get back out with Echo’s help after running an “errand” for Roan. 

At first Monty and Harper had kept busy, organizing all the ammunition, cleaning the guns, making sure the Rover and their path to the gate was as clear of snow as possible. Miller went out and shot a few odd looking animals and they enjoyed fresh meat over a fire. 

For the circumstances, moral was pretty good. The specter of adventure lent the whole precarious situation some excitement to cover the foreboding. But the blizzard that moved in was dampening it quickly.

Monty had never seen a storm like this. The sun still shined brightly, but the temperature was dropping quickly, the wind whipping the snow drifts up around them. Maybe if Jasper hadn’t been there, acting even more unusual than normal they would have been okay, would have been able to ride out the storm in peace. 

“Stop it,” Monty said, grabbing the walkie from Jasper’s hands as he fiddled with the screw on the back of the device. He’d been obsessed with contacting Raven and Murphy again since they’d called back and said they were inside the castle. 

“Hey!” Jasper said, reaching back for it, his eyes wide in his sunken face. “You’re the one that said I couldn’t help clean the guns, I need something to do.”

“I said you couldn’t clean the guns because you kept pretending to shoot yourself,” Monty said, annoyed as he reset the channel to the one Raven promised to be on and clipped it to his belt. “I didn’t say switch to doing something even more annoying.”

“Hey, i’m concerned about our friends too,” Jasper said, sliding down against the back doors of the rover, his long legs pulled up nearly to his chin. 

“Since when man?” Miller muttered out from his place in the driver’s seat, legs propped up on the dashboard. “You’ve done literally nothing this whole trip but make our lives harder.”

Jasper’s mouth curled into something so hateful Monty found himself looking down at his hands, just to avoid it.

“Yeah well, you’re in the reject rover same as me. Clarke’s back out there again, playing games with our lives while we sit around. Doing nothing,” Jasper said, his eyes bright and hot. 

“Shut. Up. Jasper.” Monty said, tightening his hands on his own legs to keep himself from lashing out. Harper’s hand reached out and curled around his own, helping him focus on something else besides the angry boy that kept trying to hurt them for seemingly his own amusement. 

“Jasper, we’re all worried about our friends, and we’re all tired of being stuck in here,” Harper said, gently, “but why don’t you just go outside and cool off, literally,” she finished primly, leaning forward and handing him the spare radio they kept charging. 

Jasper’s mouth tightened, he looked up at Monty, but his once best friend stared solidly at the floor. “Jasper, while you’re out there, dust off the solar panels, we’re getting no charge in this weather,” Miller called from up front. 

Jasper looked at them, perhaps waiting for a wish to stay safe, or a change of heart, but they looked away. Whatever goodwill he’d built up on the way there, his constant sniping and snarling about their slow pace had reverted the friendship back to the dark and rolling situation it had been after Mount Weather. 

Monty wondered why he’d even joined them in the first place. The half-hearted attempts to be helpful, or at least not a hindrance had disappeared the further north they’d trekked, as had Jasper’s sobriety. The moonshine they’d stocked to disinfect potential wounds had been downed steadily by Jasper a few days after the group had split up. 

“Fine. Maybe a grounder will shoot another spear through my chest,” Jasper said grabbing the gloves and hat from underneath the bench, jamming it on his head, “although,” he said opening the back hatch and slipping the radio Harper hand handed him onto his belt, “i’m pretty sure Clarke won’t be up for saving me this time.”

He slammed the door shut before Monty could yell back at him, instead having to settle for anger that quickly disintegrated into something more like heartbreak as the thin, weary, frame of the boy he’d once called his brother bent into the wind and toward the tree line. 

“He’s going to get lost out there,” Monty muttered, resting his head back against the Rover. 

“He’ll be fine,” Miller said, arranging himself more comfortably across the seats, “he took the last of the moonshine, he’ll be plenty warm by the time he gets back, and much easier to deal with.”

“No,” Monty said, hanging his head in his hands, “this isn’t good you guys, what if Raven and Murphy call in and he’s still out there?”

“Babe, you can’t yell him into a better mood,” Harper said, taking her gun a part for the 4th time for lack of anything better to do. 

The three teenagers fell silent then, listening to the the wind fall and snow shift against the Rover as the one that had lost his way stepped deeper into the unknown. 

***

After leaving Queen Nia’s quarters Clarke wandered the halls of the castle for awhile. No one bothered her, instead it seemed like the staff of the castle had emptied out as the main hall was prepared for the farce Nia planned.

The sun had come back out from the clouds that now dotted the sky, and slipped little streaks of light along the corridors as she passed windows. She found herself back at her and Bellamy’s room, and was unsurprised to find it empty. Grabbing what was left of her sketchpad and charcoal she followed the sounds of clanging metal that resounded along the outer walls. 

But once she spotted a window that looked out to the courtyard she found herself unwilling to make her way down and join her friends. She didn’t feel like she could hide the grief on her face, and was too tired to try. But it was nice to watch them this way. 

She was at least four stories up, and they looked so small, dancing around the ground, light glinting off of metal now and again. She looked up to the horizon, all white lands, and green ferns, gray skies in the distance. The promise of a storm rolling in.

There was a small bench set into the window, Clarke could sit down and stretch out her legs, lean her head against the wall and continue to watch Bellamy, Octavia, Lincoln, and Echo train in the yard below. She knew her other friends were in the rover, hidden miles way in the tree line. She wondered how they were doing, she hoped they stayed warm as the storm promised for tonight inched closer and closer. 

It was strangely peaceful. Disconnected from the conversations, but still observing. This is how she’d been for months. Drifting around Arkadia, taking care to never interact with the remains of the 100 more than she absolutely had to. But still watching. Still tracking.

She’d made herself a ghost to them because it was easier this way, fading into the background so she wasn’t looked to, or for, anymore. When people saw her, when she made herself part of the group she was never just part of it, she was always at the head of it. Now perhaps she’d be a ghost for real. Maybe it was better this way, in the end. On the ark it had just been her and Wells. And people looked to the Chancellor’s son, before they spared a glance for the doctor’s daughter. Thinking about Wells shattered the charcoal in her hands, black dust streaked on her palms and underneath her fingernails as she swore under her breath.

“Is that death I hear, or simply the Commander of Death?” 

Clarke tried to hide how startled she was as Roan come out of the shadows. 

“Roan, you really shouldn’t surprise people by an open window,” Clarke said, recovering enough to take her legs off the seat and give him room to settle in next to her. “Someone might think you’re looking to shove them out of it.” Roan shot her a dark look instead of replying with his usual snark. He walked over and took his place, tilting his head against the stone. 

Clarke watched the one-time banished Prince of Azgeda. The carefree smile he’d worn so often on the road to his home had slipped off his face, replaced by a deep frown. His scars stood out more in this light, the dark purple on his face reached underneath his eyes. He looked worried. 

“Something on your mind Roan?” She asked, curling her legs underneath her, looking down again as Bellamy and Echo battled each other in hand-to-hand. 

“Seems to be a lot on yours Wanheda,” Roan said back, “how was your conversation with my Mother? 

“Oh, it was an illuminating morning,” Clarke said, a bit of anger laced into her voice. “I discovered you had a sister. Funny how you never mentioned that?” Clarke said, remembering the look in Nia’s eyes as she’d stroked the locket, the nightblood sister Roan had also hidden from them. 

Roan’s sighed, “Clarke, the mother I knew,” he paused, “when I heard she’d adopted a fallen Nightblood I thought it might heal some wounds for her, but, it seems to have created a whole new set of problems.”

“Don’t worry Roan,” Clarke said, “you’re not the only one Nia fooled into believing this would work.” She thought of Lexa, of the commanders in her head that had been misled by Nia for decades. “She wants Ontari to kill me tonight, did you know that?”

Roan turned slightly to meet her eyes, there was no shame there, only regret. “I thought it was one possible outcome, yes.”

“So what’s the plan Prince?” Clarke asked, folding the parchment away. 

“To follow the Commander’s wishes Wanheda, as always,” Roan said, hands sliding down his knees, “I’ll be King, just sooner than expected.”

“I don’t think you’re seeing the bigger picture Roan,” Clarke said, ignoring the sad twist of her heart as Lexa’s words came out of her mouth. 

Roan raised an eyebrow, the thick scars coming with it, “enlighten me then.” 

“In exchange for Ontari killing me, your mother offered to give my people safe passage back to Arkadia. To treat Skaikru like the scientists they are, instead of the warriors and cannon fodder Lexa would turn them into.”

“The younger Blake might have a thing or two to say in response to that,” Roan mused. “And you might claim to be an academic, but your skills of strategy lend themselves much better to war, than gardening, Wanheda.”

“Monty would be the one to put in charge of gardening,” Clarke replied ignoring him. “Harper and Miller would lead hunting parties. If Jasper knows i’m dead maybe he can move on and put his mind to making medicines again. My mother and Jackson could show your healers the medical procedures you lost to time. It could be good Roan, with Azgeda in charge.”

“Lofty dreams,” Roan said, moving a hand around her shoulders, she leaned into it, accepting the comfort. “And what of Bellamy? Echo told me he was little better than a servant when you lived in the sky.”

“We lived in space,” Clarke said irritably, “I’ve explained this a hundred times. And Bellamy is smart, he knows how to inspire people, if he trusts the vision, if he believes in a goal, others will too,” Clarke said quietly. 

“And his sister?” Roan goaded her.

Clarke thought a moment, looking back out the window at the wild spark that was Octavia Blake. Sixteen years of being hidden, and she shines brighter than them all. “Let her go Roan. Let her roam and be free. You may find she returns the faith later on.” 

“If Nia and Ontari take charge in Polis, none of that comes to pass Clarke,” Roan said, bringing a finger up and turning her chin toward him. “That little girl in the chip, she wasn’t a kind sweet child, playing with dolls and riding ponies. There’s a reason my mother chose Ontari, she reminded her of the child she lost, except Ontari was only sick in the mind, and not the body like Louisa. Giving her back to the world does no one any good. It is not the path to Lexa’s sought after peace Clarke, it is the road to chaos.”

“So is you killing your Mother without gaining the support of the Azgeda council,” Clarke said, rolling her head away from him and staring out the window. Bellamy and Echo were fighting now. “She orchestrated this whole thing to impress them, to motivate them, to make her war possible, to make the end goal a reality.”

“And how do you propose I gain their support Clarke?” Roan asked curiously. “The youth, the warriors don’t even remember my face, and I’ve heard from many reliable sources it’s not one you forget easily.” Clarke laughed despite herself but Roan’s easy joke was quickly muted. “I don’t expect them to follow me willingly when there’s been a Nightblood that’s been constantly by their beloved Queen’s side for a decade.”

“Do you think they’d follow the Commander of Death?” Clarke asked then, her tone pleasant despite the implication she let sink in. 

Roan’s eyes widened slightly in response. 

“It’s taken me awhile to figure out what Lexa meant,” Clarke said picking at the piece of parchment in her lap. “Back at the summit she said she was giving me a key. After such a delightful breakfast with your mother, I think I finally understand.”

“I don’t think you do Clarke,” Roan said, his eyes searching her face. 

“You’re going to be a good King Roan,” she said instead. 

Roan frowned, “there are still plans in motion, you should give them a chance to play out.”

“Okay, sure” she said, staring up at him. “As long as you’re prepared to follow my plan when they fail.”

Roan dropped his head down, his hands clasped in front of him now, staring at the patchwork stone below them. “You have too much faith in me Wanheda.”

Clarke considered his warning. She had been betrayed before. She had placed her trust in the wrong person, and in the end that’s why she was here in this castle at all. But she had also decided to trust Bellamy in those first heady days at the drop ship, and that had never led her wrong, not once. 

“I have faith that you will do the best thing for Azgeda. I’m hoping that this time, you’ll see that what’s best for my people, is best for your people.” 

They sat there a moment, the faint sounds from below drifting up to meet them. “If we had met at another time Wanheda, I think I might have followed you to the ends of the earth.” Roan said, standing slowly and moving close to her. His large hand wiping away the tears on her cheeks she hadn’t even known were there. 

“No thank you, meeting you once is enough,” Clarke replied, a shaky smile crossing her face. Roan cupped her cheek a moment, then leaned down to press a kiss to her hair. He stared at her a moment longer, before releasing her and walking back down the hall. 

Clarke let her hand drop down. It was still streaked with black as she turned to stare out the window. She picked up the pieces of charcoal and spent the fading light letting the dark dust bleed onto the pages.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're almost there! Think you know who attacked Raven and Murphy?

The sun was setting on Azgeda, and Echo was looking for trouble. It was technically her job, as a spy she’d already spent a lifetime listening around corridors, and finding small shadowy places to sit still in. She had lived days in trees watching troop formations and slipped under beds to find who was fucking whom. 

She was proud to carry little jewels of information back to her queen. A queen that protected her people. Echo had always known who she was. Betray all but your Queen. Because to betray her, would be to betray your very being. 

But, here she was doing just that. Hanging upside down in the mountain for months had a clarifying effect on Echo’s motivations. She’d found a well of self-preservation deeper than she’d ever imagined. And then Roan’s calm, careful words as she healed in Polis. Showing her that being true to Azgeda could mean more than serving Nia. So, here she was looking for trouble before it could find the sad lot of Skaikru in the forest.

Ontari still walked freely among the castle, a drink in hand, a snarl in place, ordering staff and guard about. Most of them responding a little too speedily for Echo’s taste. The mechanic and weasel had failed then, in Roan’s ill-conceived plan to level the playing field before the signing. 

But, whether the Natblida lived or not, Echo had still promised to get them back out of the castle before the rover was due to arrive for the evening’s events. And since no cries of treason had been raised, she assumed they lived.

So Echo strolled and wandered. Through the large kitchen where there was madness preparing for the signing, and across the great hall where decorations were being strung up. She slipped unseen down the wing no one dared visit, but found only the rotting corpse of an unsuspecting guard. Typical children, leaving her to clean up their mess. 

Echo paused a moment in that room, ignoring the stench that drifted from the carpets in the corner and considering her problem. They were not cowards, they would have at least attempted to gain entry to Ontari’s rooms. 

Echo doubled back and stood back for a moment, letting the corridor opposite Ontari’s hall clear out. She followed the odd lines of frost that built up on the doors that led to rooms on the outer wall. Rooms that perhaps Ontari requested not be entered by servants. And there it was, the one free of frost, that had heat within it, and the dark stain of blood, red blood, that had been almost fully wiped away. 

She pressed her ear to the door, and hearing silence, used the master skeleton key she’d stolen from the locksmith a decade ago. At the bottom, a little worse for the wear the couple was huddled around each other, startled at the sound of the door opening and breaking into relief at the sight of Echo’s face, and not their captor. 

“Raven,” she whispered, “Murphy,” she said, “get up. I need you to get back to the Rover now. Your failure cannot create another.” 

“Echo, wait, we need to tell you,” Raven said, struggling to stand, the girl’s brace broken by their fall down the stairs, a trickle of dried blood against her face. 

“Seeing as I just saw Ontari bully the cook out of his sherry it’s fairly obvious you didn’t succeed in killing her,” Echo said, pulling a wincing Murphy up to his feet, his hands around his ribs. “How did you end up here?”

Raven gasped in pain as she straighten her leg, “Emerson, it was Emerson, from Mount Weather. He’s here.”

Echo stilled. Emerson. The name rang a bell, but the Mountain Men tended to blur together. Their suits that protected them made them seem interchangeable. 

“How is that possible?” Echo asked, “I thought Wanheda killed them all?”

“He was one of the few that was given the bone marrow transplant before we irradiated the mountain.” Raven said, letting Murphy help her shuffle up the steps, the girl’s eyes were unfocused. Likely a concussion. They weren’t going to be able to move fast and there wasn’t time to waste.

“Did he say anything to you?” Echo asked, her mind racing to unravel a new unknown. So much was changed. Sometimes she felt like she had walked out of that damn mountain but never really returned home. 

“He said he needed us alive for tonight, he said he had a surprise for Clarke,” Murphy said, coughing as they made their way carefully back up the stairs to the door. 

“Echo,” Raven said as they reached the top, and she searched the corridor to make sure they could leave unnoticed. “We have to warn Clarke and Bellamy. We don’t know what we’re walking into anymore”

“Right now, we stick to the plan,” Echo said, guiding them down the hall and to the stables. Thankfully, most of the castle staff was busy with preparations, and in the darkening light the Azgeda uniforms Roan had given them made them look like two servants who’d perhaps had too much to drink. 

“He took the poison too,” Raven said dejectedly, both in pain and terrified at the thought that they’d sealed their friend’s fate. 

Echo could feel her hands clench at the thought, wishing she had a sword in her hand instead of an arm around the skaikru girl. Roan relied too much on his childhood healer’s concoctions, and now one was in play in the castle. “I will try to warn Roan. I won’t be able to tell Wanheda or Bellamy anything right now. It’s too late. They’ll be escorted to the hall by the guard for the signing.”

“That’s crazy, we should be coming in guns blazing.This whole thing is a setup!” Murphy exploded, startling the horses in the stable pens they had just reached. 

Echo ignored their glares as she pulled the large spotted stallion out of his pen. “Get on the horse. Get to your kru. Warn them. Be prepared. But get back through that gate when you’re expected or the signing will not happen. And the Queen will move against Polis regardless if your friends live or die,” she said. 

Echo boosted Raven up to the horse, John following after. She settled the bag of clothes in the bag attached to the harness. She’d swiped it from the seamstress and hidden it in the stables earlier in the day. “Get dressed, and arrive on time. I’ll see what I can find out about this Mountain Man.”

“Echo,” Raven said hesitantly, “be careful.”

Echo nodded, “you too,” she said, an unfamiliar heaviness in her stomach. When had she begun to care about these rash children?

She lead the horse to the gate, nodding at Miles, on guard as planned. He’d let them in, now he’d let them out the same way. Slapping the horse's haunches it sped off in the direction of the rover. Echo turned on her heel, and looked over at the guard. 

“There are mountain trolls in our midst,” she said, the streaks of sunset painting orange and yellow on the white snow. 

Miles nodded, “that would be a tale to tell my children.” 

“Be at the front gate. I have a feeling the soldiers are not listening to orders unless they come from Ontari herself these days,” Echo said, picking up her pace. 

“Long live the King,” Miles said, the words captured up by the swiftly falling snow, dispersed before they could reach anyone but Echo’s ears. 

****

Jasper wandered alone in the blizzard, his pace slowing down after he’d stomped away from the Rover, anger thrumming in his veins. He’d gotten used to the fury that pumped through his body, just as hot and blinding as the moonshine he took nips from along the way. It was a constant, a friend to rely on. 

He also relied on the staticky hum of the radio on his hip, switched back to station three after Harper had grabbed it from him. The closer he got to the meet up, the clearer his voice became, guiding him through the snow. 

He’d showed up a few months after everything. Jasper had passed out near the old drop ship again. He’d taken to drinking there because the guards thought he was looking for Clarke when Bellamy got worked up enough to hunt for her. 

He didn’t even need to sneak out, just had to act sober enough on the way back in. Emerson had woken him up with a swift clock over the head with his gun, he must have expected some kind of fight. Jasper was pretty sure that’s what he wanted. Him, struggling, asking to live, like Emerson’s people had, like his little kids might have. 

But Jasper was too far gone too care, and he was surprised, and more than a little disappointed when he’d woken back up, alone and not dead. It took a few more weeks before Emerson showed back up again, this time wanting to talk. 

He was the first person Jasper found himself wanting to talk to since the Mountain. Everyone else in Arkadia, with the exception of maybe Clarke, was happy to be alive. Monty and Bellamy seemed to have some kind of grim determination in their eyes to keep moving forward. Regret sure, but they didn’t believe they’d made a mistake. 

They absolved themselves because they thought the losing side didn’t have anyone left to make them feel it. So Jasper made sure they did. He screamed, and yelled, and shouted at the top of his lungs that they were monsters. But his friends ignored him, Monty turned away from him. But not Emerson, Emerson agreed with Jasper. 

So he started sneaking out of camp every week to meet with him, give him some supplies he couldn’t get himself, and then they’d talk. Emerson told him stories about Maya when she was growing up, and about his son’s love of soccer, about meeting his wife and kissing her behind the hydro-generator. Stories that crippled Jasper, but it felt like a good hurt. This was how he was suppose to feel. Happiness shouldn't be on the menu for them. 

Eventually, Emerson told him a new story. About an Ice Queen in the far north. About a piece of technology that gave the Commander her power. About how Emerson was going to make sure a real leader would be in power, and how Jasper could help make it happen. Jasper could be the hero Maya believed him to be. 

He could be part of ending Clarke’s insane ability to destroy everything around her. Could stop his friends from blindly following her as though she had all the answers. He would finally save everyone just like he was suppose.

Emerson would pull all the strings. Jasper just had to follow a few simple orders. Like con his way into the caravan by convincing Kane he wanted to sober up. He actually wanted to make some kind of amends with Monty. He would need someone in his corner after Clarke was dead, and they found out how he helped make it happen. 

He had no problem following the first ask. He wanted to get out of Arkadia as badly as the rest of them did. He was starting to scare himself. That morning in the bar when he’d wrapped his hands around Clarke’s throat had terrified him. So he told Emerson yes. He’d go along with his plan, as long as his friends, or the people he used to call friends were okay. Emerson agreed. He wanted Clarke dead too, not the people trapped in her wake. 

Tonight, Emerson was going to give him the way forward. He picked up the man’s large boot prints in the snow and followed them to a sheltered copse of trees. He wore a dark green traveling cloak, some of the arker’s pants Jasper had given him, and the khaki of the Mountain’s work uniforms. 

“I was starting to get worried about you friend,” Emerson said, the man’s eyes a flat light green. 

“Yeah well, everything starts to look the same when it snows,” Jasper said, “and it’s not like you gave me a lot to go on,” he finished petulantly. Emerson frowned at him, but Jasper just lifted his chin in defiance. He’d been stuck in a Rover with the very people that made him feel the worst. He was tired, and sore, and had to be sober for at least half of it, while only knowing a sliver of the plan. 

Emerson sighed, “I’m sorry Jasper, I know it was asking a lot for you to be with them this whole time. But Maya would have been proud of you. I’m proud of you for making it this far.”

Jasper ducked his head at the mention of Maya, a reminder of why he was doing this, “it’s fine,” he shrugged, “just tell me what happens next, Raven and Murphy are already late, that spy sent them inside early this morning and we haven’t heard back yet.”

“Don’t worry about them, I took care of it,” Emerson said brusquely, “everything is still going as planned, your Wanheda had quite the conversation with the Queen this morning, she handed us everything we needed to convince our friend.”

Jasper looked up “Raven’s okay though right?”

Emerson looked at him steadily, “what did I promise you Jasper?”

Jasper took another sip of the moonshine, the burn clearing his thoughts, “that only Clarke would die, that only Clarke would be hurt. They just followed her lead, she’s the only one that should burn,” the words felt good on his tongue. He’d be the hero this time.

“That’s right Jasper,” Emerson said, pulling a small vial out of his pack. “And this is how you protect them.” He handed the clear vial to Jasper, the wolf’s head stopper collecting flakes of snow in the dimming light.

“What is it?” He asked, running his thumb over the head of the wolf. 

“A simple, safe, sedative, it’s used all the time up in these mountains. Find a way to get this into their cups, or their canteens or whatever. I don’t care. Just make sure you use it among them equally. We don’t want them getting up from their seats to try and save Clarke when it happens,” Emerson said, watching Jasper peer at the liquid. 

“Should I have some too?” He asked, curious to know what the effects would be. Jasper was something of a connoisseur of opioids at the moment. 

Emerson looked at him closely, “don’t you want to be clear-headed when she’s taken down?” 

“Uh, yeah,” Jasper said, regretting saying anything. “you’re right.”

Emerson reached out and grasped Jasper’s shoulder, “I know this is a lot son, but I believe in you. Just think about Maya. She was innocent. Clarke is not.”

Jasper’s breath caught in his throat, his fingers numb from the cold as they stayed wrapped around the vial instead of tucked into his jacket pocket. “None of us are innocent,” Maya’s last words to him as she choked on her own blood. 

Both men turned into the mounting snow as a horse’s neigh bounced through the trees. “That will be your Raven and Murphy, just like I promised. That spy is uncommonly loyal to her Prince.” Emerson pulled his hand from Jasper’s shoulder. “Remember, use all of it, I’ll find you when it’s done.” And with that, the man disappeared into the falling snow and trees, his tracks obscured as the drifts blew against them. 

“Jasper!” Raven’s voice called out to him suddenly, and he turned around, startled, almost dropping the bottle of moonshine still clutched in his other hand. The vial slipped quickly into his pocket. Raven and Murphy were astride a large dappled grey horse, looking like they’d just been thrown down a set of stairs.

“Whoah,” Jasper said, staring up at them, “what happened to you guys?” he asked. Emerson hadn’t said they’d been hurt. 

“Long story,” Murphy said, “what are you doing out here? We need to get to the others now.”

“I, was out for a walk,” Jasper said, swinging the moonshine bottle into view, “the rover was getting a little crowded.”

“And then you got lost,” Raven said, a small twist to her bloodied lips, “it’s just up ahead Jasper, you’ve been in walkie range for 20 minutes, Monty’s been screaming over the radio but you must’ve turned it off.”

“Oh, look at that,” Jasper said in mock surprise, glancing down at the radio clipped to his belt.

Murphy rolled his eyes. “Follow the horse tracks Jasper, we’ve got more problems to deal with than you ending up a popsicle in the woods.”

“Oh, is Clarke in danger again?” He asked innocently.

“Clarke, Bellamy, all of us really,” Raven said, “Our old friend Emerson is in town, he could be putting the peace treaty in jeopardy.”

“Oh, well we did massacre his entire people,” Jasper said, “perhaps his grudge is a little warranted?”

Raven’s eyes narrowed, “I’ll keep that in mind every time my hips hurt from where they drilled holes into it for bone marrow. Now get back to the Rover Jasper,” she said, nudging Murphy’s shoulder and they took off down the trail, leaving the slim, bedraggled boy in the deepening snow banks. 

He rolled the glass vial in his palm, sliding his tongue over chapped lips. It wouldn’t hurt to taste it, right? He needed something to give him courage, to smooth over the rough edges so that he could blend in with these people for awhile. 

He waited until he couldn’t hear them in the distance, and then took the wolf head stopper off. He pressed his thumb to the top of it, tipping the vial upside down and back up to get just a drop of it on his skin. He licked it off quickly so the snow couldn’t dilute it. 

The burn on his tongue felt familiar at first, just like the first batches of moonshine they’d created at the drop ship. It’s what came after that startled him. A sickening heaviness to the back of his neck, his ears ringing, and heart pounding. Jasper shoved his face into the snow, pushing fingers down his throat until he retched up the moonshine and rations and a mucky bit of saliva.

It all came at him in a rush. Jasper had been apprenticed at the age of twelve to the chemistry lab on the ark. He knew all the components of your basic medications backwards, forwards, and upside down. Sedatives were his speciality, hallucinogens the supporting star. But he’d always been interested in the ones they kept close watch over, the ones that were given to those on the ark that didn’t deserve a painless death out the airlock. 

Jasper worked the problem around in his mind as he heaved himself up and walked back toward the rover, his legs feeling like lead. Would diluting it make the effects less severe? How long would it take to work its way into their system before they felt it? Was Emerson not aware of what was truly in this vial? 

None of us are innocent. Maya’s words kept ringing in his head. The moonshine sloshing back and forth in the bottle, the vial cold and full in his hand. Jasper had a choice to make. One he couldn't go back from. All of a sudden, he thought he might have some idea of what had flashed through Clarke's mind when she had her hand on that lever. 

It didn’t take long to reach the rest of them. They were all outside in the cold air, stripping off dirty travel clothes and grabbing anything that looked warm, clean, and new from the pack Raven had tossed into the snow. Harper had already changed and was wiping away the last of the blood from Raven’s forehead, smoothing her dark hair down over the bruises already starting to form. 

“Sorry, Reyes, you’re going to have to lose the trademark for tonight,” Harper said, as she helped her into new leggings. 

“We all make sacrifices,” Raven replied, standing up and fitting a long tunic over her body, giving the illusion of a dress, just warmer. 

“Can you guys please get back to the part where Emerson is involved in this shit show?” Miller grunted, as he searched his way through the bag.

“There’s not much to know yet. He must have made his way to Azgeda after we irradiate the Mountain. There would have been too much risk for him to stay in Trikru lands.” Raven said, sitting down in the back of the rover hatch to adjust the screws on her brace and slide long thin knives into the casings. 

Jasper watched them get ready, suddenly wishing he could say something profound. Something to let them know he understood why they’d turned on him, but that he hoped they understood why he had also turned on them. That he was the only one who could make the madness stop. Monty was looking at him curiously.

“Jasper, get over here. We need to get ready,” he called out to him. 

“Not yet,” Jasper said, lifting the bottle of moonshine in his hand, much fuller now. The vial empty in his pocket. “First, please join me in taking a shot for courage.”

Monty gave him a look, “you give yourself an attitude adjustment out there?” he asked.

“Nah, just figure if Emerson is here that means we’re all going to die tonight, and i’d like to make it as fun as possible,” Jasper said, throwing off the top of the bottle and taking a drag. 

“God damn it Jasper,” Monty said, but he walked over anyway. 

“Yeah, i’m pretty damned,” Jasper said as Monty grabbed the bottle from him and took a pull. 

Monty made a face as the liquid burned down his throat, “God Jasper, you mixing liquors again?” He asked as he wiped his mouth off. 

“What can I say, I had an epiphany out there in the woods and realized I still had some vintage drop ship moonshine in the old flask,” he said holding up the beat up container he kept in his back pocket. “I decided to consolidate, might need my hands for some life-saving cowering,” he added as Harper came up with a questioning look in her eyes but followed suit, grabbing the bottle from him and tilting it back. 

One by one they shared the moonshine bottle until it was gone, Jasper the last, taking a long pull and capping it. He tossed the empty bottle in the snow and switched his flask into the new jacket Monty handed him. 

“I thought you put the rest of that in the bottle? He asked as Jasper carefully tucked it in and zipped it in the pocket. 

“Yeah, but, if we end up making it out of there alive I want something for the ride home. Roan kept boasting about Azgeda wine on the way here,” he said, not looking at Monty’s face. 

Fixed up, cleaned up, and the liquid zooming through their bodies the small band of 100 climbed into the Rover, trundling unevenly across the mounds of snow, and to the gates of Azgeda. 

Jasper feeling his heart pounding against the full flask with every bump.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you guess right? Let me know!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fireplaces, friends, and flasks.

Clarke had stayed by the window, sketching, until the sun dipped low on the horizon. She turned the evening around and around in her mind, going over the right words to say to get the reaction she needed from Nia, and balancing it with the risk to her family at the table. At one point she thought she saw a horse and two riders bolting across the snowy field but they were eclipsed in yellow light as the sun finally sank. 

It wasn’t until a guard came up, coughing uneasily near her that she slunk back to the room. She’d been procrastinating. She knew Bellamy would be there. Waiting for her. Wanting to ask how the morning had gone, wanting to know where she had been all day.

She opened the door slowly. Bellamy sat in one of the large armchairs by the fire, his feet stretched out on the other. He was already back in the finery from last night. The room was almost too warm now. He must have been feeding it for a while to get the heat up this high as the snow began to fall. He hadn’t looked toward her when she opened the door, had yet to acknowledge her presence. 

She walked all the way in, closing the door with a loud thud. Still, he stared into the fire. She moved to the bed, laying the sketch pad down and went over to the chair his shoes occupied. He didn’t move a muscle except for the one jumping in his jaw. Finally, she went to sit down on his feet, and he huffed, moving them aside, but standing up instead to lean against the mantle.

“So, you’re pissed at me,” Clarke said, settling into the chair. She had to work from keeping herself from smiling, this was preferable to a heart-wrenching discussion. Fighting with Bellamy Blake was fun.

“How was your little chat with the Queen?” He asked, refusing to look at her, staring into the flames instead.

“Clarifying.”

“That’s it? No hope of her signing the peace treaty? The famous Clarke Griffin persuasion tactics failed?” 

“What crawled up your ass?” She said, a little annoyed now. “I had to talk to Roan about it, he wasn’t entirely pleased with the plan, but” she picked a little at her vest, “I think I found a solution that works for both of us.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, i’m well aware you think he’s the answer,” he said, eyes flicking in her direction now. Clarke sat up straighter in the chair. Where was that coming from?

“Have a fun day sparring with Echo?” she asked instead, enjoying the blush that crawled up the back of his neck. “You two paired up nicely, swords and hand to hand? Lucky boy Bell.”

He turned to her now, surprised, “you were watching me?” 

“Talking with an insane person for breakfast can inspire one to seek solitude.” Bellamy raised an eyebrow, and Clarke sighed, so much for lightening the mood. “Nia got to me. So I found a place to sketch. It was a nice day. There was no traveling or people trying to kill me for a few hours. I took advantage of it.”

“I know,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I came looking for you earlier. Saw you and Roan together.”

Clarke tilted her head, trying to figure out what he might have seen. If he’d been able to hear the conversation Clarke was pretty sure they’d be having a much different argument right now. 

“You were obviously able to talk to him about something you couldn’t tell me. What about last night? Did that mean nothing to you? Didn’t you hear anything I was saying? Seriously Clarke?” Bellamy asked rapidly, nearly out of breath he had spoken so fast. The fire crackled in the silence.

“Wow, been stewing over that one all afternoon?” Clarke got up, enjoying the anger coursing through her. It was holding the stark panic at bay. 

“Only a few hours,” he finally said to her back as she sat on the bed, taking off her boots and wrap. He lifted the dress from last night off the back of the chair and walked it over to her. She looked up at him as he pushed the fabric into her hands. 

Clarke let out her breath, taking the dress from him, seceding. “I had to tell him he’ll probably have to kill Nia to stop the war. We needed a plan in case he has to do it at dinner. I feel like I let him down. Everyone trusted me to get this done without a fight, and I don’t think it will happen.”

“Clarke,” Bellamy said, sitting next to her on the bed now. “It’s not your fault. You think we all came with you because we thought this would be easy? That it would be a tea party with a signed peace agreement at the end?”

“It’s going to be an interesting evening either way,” Clarke said, standing up, moving behind him to start taking off her day clothes. Bellamy stayed facing the wall, because of course he did. They slept together half-naked but watching her change would be just too much. 

“So what did Queen Nia say to you this morning?” He asked, “more of what we heard last night?”

“She had a daughter, a nightblood that died during her conclave.” Clarke stepped out of the leggings and laid them down on the bed. “Nia’s anger over it has driven her insane.” Her fingers twitched at the lie. Bellamy didn’t deserve that. In some way, neither did Nia. She stepped back into the black velvet dress, them metal stars scraping her legs. 

“So the legend of Wanheda wasn’t scary enough to convince her away from war?” Bellamy asked, he turned back to her as she laid a hand on his shoulder. 

“Button me up? Echo did it last time,” she asked, trying not to shiver as the back of his knuckles went up her spine achingly slowly as he slipped the black disks through. “I tried to tell everyone that, that this plan wouldn’t work.”

Bellamy sighed, “it was important to try peace first,” he said softly, fixing the last button, and placing his hands on her hips to turn her around to face him. She stood between his legs, as he sat on the bed. “It’s what good guys would do,” he said shrugging, his face downcast. 

Suddenly, Octavia’s words from the mountain top rang dimly in her mind, and she knew that it was now or never. “Bellamy,” Clarke said, lifting her hands and placing them on either side of his face. “About last night, about what you said to me,” she paused, feeling him hold a breath, his dark eyes locked on to hers. 

“You don’t need to say anything back Clarke,” he said softly, “I meant what I said, but if you don’t...” 

“I want you too,” Clarke cut him off, and grinned at the smile that spread beneath her hands. “And just in case I didn’t make it obvious last night, I feel like I should make sure i’m clear.” Clarke took a deep breath, “I want you Bellamy Blake. I, I think i’ve loved you for a long time, even when I thought it was a weakness. I came up here not because I trusted in the power of Wanheda, or Roan, or even Lexa. I trust you Bellamy. Whatever happens tonight, you’re beside me, so it’s going to be okay.”

Clarke’s hands were still on Bellamy’s face, and she felt a little dizzy now. It had taken most of the day to get the courage up, and now it seem to shimmer in the space between them. His grin had faded though, and Clarke knew it was because despite the sweet words, they also sounded like a goodbye. 

“Nothing is happening to you Princess,” Bellamy said, his grip on her hips tightening, he brought her in closer. She moved a thumb across his cheek. “Nia refuses to sign. Roan kills her. End of story. We go home.”

Clarke ducked her head, her resolve slipping, her heart breaking. She looked back up, at freckles and dark curls and lips that she had a whole new appreciation for. “But just in case,” she whispered.

Bellamy didn’t need any more convincing. He wrapped his arms around her bringing her flush against him and pulling her down on top of him. Clarke brought her lips down to meet his, letting the kiss deepen until all the other thoughts in her mind scattered away. A promise of more and more and more as he gripped her back, pressing her into him. She had searched so long for a way to make the pain disappear. She should have tried this first. Way better than Raven’s loft.

In the end, it was Bellamy that broke the kiss. He pulled back, searching her eyes. She tried not to let the tears come. But she was afraid, and tired of being afraid, “please don’t cry, you’re pretty amazing at that, I promise,” he said.

Clarke let out a shaky laugh, letting him wipe the tears away with his hands, regretting only that he had to take them from her back. “Clarke,” he said, grabbing her hand from his hair, and bringing it down to his heart. “You’ve got me, no matter what legends they put at your feet. We’ll get through this together.”

Clarke painted a smile on her face, wishing she had his optimism. Wishing that she could believe the ending wasn’t bloody and near, hoping she could convince herself as easily as she convinced him. “Together,” she said, leaning her face into his other palm. “Well, let’s go watch Roan can commit matricide and regicide in one go.”

Bellamy smiled at her dark humor, but he kept hold of her hand as she rolled off him and sat up. He stood and spun her around collecting her in his arms once more, wrapping her up in a hug as tight as he dared. A bit of cold dread sinking into him, even as the words he had always imagined her saying to him burned through him like a wildfire. He was hugging her to reassure her that everything would be okay. She was hugging him goodbye. 

***

They entered the same hall they’d had dinner in just the previous night, but nothing was the same. The pale woods and snow white features that had dominated the room were gone. Instead, large swaths of red and black fabric were draped across the pillars and windows. The white wood table gleamed, and leaves had been added letting it amass a length that startled Clarke. She rested her arm on Bellamy’s, the black velvet dress feeling tighter than it had before. There was an eerie familiarity in the decor. As they made their way to their designated seats, she realized what it was. It reminded her of the Commander’s shawl that Lexa wore. Queen Nia had made this both a coronation and an arena. 

Octavia and Lincoln had already arrived, and were seated, frowning at being ushered in before Clarke and Bellamy. Octavia pulling at her dark green frock. Clarke knew a dagger or two was being readjusted beneath the folds. The young woman gave her a small nod at their arrival, her face tense at the atmosphere. 

Clarke looked around for Roan or Ontari, neither were here yet, or at least in view. They were the only ones to be seated so far. The rest of the dignitaries from Azgeda court still drifting around with wine as the musicians started up. Clarke took a sip from her own glass, reaching down between her and Bellamy’s seats to find his hand. They wove their fingers together and she felt a bit better, the warmth holding the fragile pieces of her resolve in place.

The four of them stayed quiet, until the large doors opened at the end of the hall, and their friends finally strode through. Clarke felt Bellamy drop her hand and rise to meet them, relief evident in his stance.

Clarke felt differently. One by one the weight of their lives came into focus. Raven and Murphy came through first, dressed well, but strangely bruised and swollen. Raven was limping more noticeably, and Murphy was holding himself awkwardly. Jasper too, he’d lost more weight, his re-shaved head like a spinning top on a stick.

“What happened to our friends?” Clarke asked, breathing the question into Bellamy’s ear as the hall quieted and their steps rang out. 

“I don’t know, I haven’t seen Echo since the training yard today,” Bellamy replied, low and nervous. “Did Roan say anything to you about this?”

Clarke was going to reply, but grasped the back of his shoulder instead as Monty, Harper, and Miller came through behind them. They at least seemed as well as they were when they’d parted ways a week ago. 

“Well, a few of them look like they stayed out of trouble,” Octavia said shifting next to Lincoln. 

“Steady, Octavia,” Lincoln said, sparing a glance back to Bellamy, “those guards at the door do not wear Queen Nia’s insignia.”

Clarke’s heart dropped, and she could feel a thin sheen of sweat line her forehead. What had seemed so simple before, it was all jumbled now. Stupid, to think she could have a plan that wouldn’t all fall apart, just like Mount Weather. Like the peace summit. When would they learn? 

But there wasn’t time to dissolve into full panic. Raven and Murphy settled into the empty spaces on Clarke’s right, Miller pulled out the chair on Lincoln’s other side, giving the man a slap and smile on the back, that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Monty, Harper, and Jasper sat across from them, their movements stiff. Jasper looked slightly shell shocked, his old dinged flask clutched in his hand. 

As they sat, the nobility surrounding them seemed to pick up their conversations again, the musicians springing back to life and filling the air with arrangements that seemed so familiar, yet alien to Clarke. Some sonata that had lost measures in the century between when sheet music was still available, and now. 

The delinquents remained seated, giving each other glances that spoke volumes and reassured no one. Clarke leaned slightly to her right, Raven had already disappeared the dinner knife up her sleeve. 

“Looks like you’ve been busy?” Clarke asked, taking a sip of her wine. 

“You could say that,” Raven said, taking her own cup and gulping the contents, and then slamming the cup down on the table hard enough to get the waiters jumping in her direction. “Nice dress by the way.”

“Raven,” Clarke said, exasperated by the mechanic's tone, “what don’t we know?”

“Emerson. He’s here,” Raven said, pausing as the servant came up to refill the cup. “He attacked Murphy and me when we were in the castle trying to poison Ontari, on your Prince’s orders by the way. Echo got us out. You didn’t know?”

“No,” Clarke said, her brow furrowing. She looked back up across the table. Monty nodded to her and wrapped a hand around Harper’s shoulders. “We haven’t seen Echo since this afternoon, and Roan never said anything about it.”

“And the party’s just getting started,” Murphy muttered to Raven’s right

Clarke swung her head back to Bellamy, pleading with him silently to run now, to get their friends out of whatever disaster was coming at them. He shook his head, “together,” he mouthed at her as they stood up and the grand doors swung open. Queen Nia strode into the room, Prince Roan by her side. 

“Like the room, the Queen wore red. Gone were the snow white furs and bone antler crown. She wore a silk, blood red gown, fully sleeved and high necked. Her crown tonight was black, still made from bones, but painted in what Clarke knew was nightblood. The only jewelry that shone was a long gold locket around her neck, swinging against her body. She’d brought her daughter along.

Roan was dressed in his black furs. His crown at least, was still white. Clarke tried to meet his eyes but he looked pointedly away from her, his hand grasped tightly around the hilt of the sword at his hip, his face stony and lined. It would look like anger to anyone else. She saw grief. 

Behind them, followed Ontari. The only concession the nightblood had made to the ceremony was to wear a dark black version of the brown riding gear Clarke had seen her in. She seemed to be as unsettled as Roan, her gaze darting between the Queen, and the table Clarke and her friends stood along. 

She swayed a bit in her gait, and her lips had stains on them, bruised a dark red as though she’d already enjoyed a few cups of wine. Clarke briefly wondered if the Queen indulged Ontari’s weakness for alcohol because it made her easier to control. 

The chattering around them had dimmed to the point where Clarke was sure Bellamy could hear her heart beating. The shock of hearing Emerson’s name again had jumbled her thoughts. The image of a boy and a soccer ball flashing through her mind as a bead of sweat rolled down her back. 

Queen Nia and Roan walked up to the head table to take their seats. Ontari split off from them though, smirking at Clarke through glassy eyes as she settled into the empty chair next to Jasper. Her eyes pointing down to the flask still in his hands. Jasper glanced up at Clarke, but she couldn’t read the question in his eyes. It was the first time he’d looked at her with anything other than pure hatred or heartbreak. This looked more like a challenge. 

He smirked at Ontari, a silly grin tipping the corners of his mouth, and Clarke watched on apprehensively as he handed the flask to Ontari. She smiled, twisting the cap off and drinking a large gulp, placing her mud clad shoes on the chair next to her, leaning back to face her Queen and Prince. She was waiting for the show to start Clarke realized, looking away from their exchange, and straight into Queen Nia’s silver gaze. 

“Good evening,” Nia began. She stood behind the head table, her arms raised in greeting. “I’d like to welcome our Skaikru ambassadors to a truly historic meeting. Azgeda has had the pleasure of treating with Wanheda and her allies these last two days, and we are thrilled to welcome the rest of her guard, those brave few who slayed the mountain and have traveled so far seeking a peaceful solution to the false Commander.”

Nia paused, the only sounds came from Ontari tilting Jasper’s flask back every few moments and setting it back on the table. 

“Many of you were here last night. You heard Wanheda defend the false Commander,” she continued. Clarke straighten up in her seat, avoiding the wary eyes of her friends as the rumbles among the balcony increased. “She has brought us what she calls peace. But I call it blasphemy.” The low mutterings around them grew to wild yells as Clarke took a deep breath and stood up, the stone cold beneath her boots.

“I never meant to insult you Queen Nia,” Clarke began, “or your faith, but you must see that the Commander wishes for peace, that signing the treaty, and recalling your troops is the only way to avoid a senseless war.” She took a few cautious steps toward the head table, Roan’s scowl deepening, urging caution. Instead, she raised her voice. “Should your people have to die simply because you want something the conclave took from you?” Clarke asked, staring at Nia, the Queen’s cool gaze smoldering. 

“I have no interest in a sky child’s view of a sovereign's responsibilities,” Nia retorted, her hands resting like claws on the table. “Wanheda, your legend may strike fear into the hearts of the false Commander’s southern clans, but death is something Azgeda does not fear.” The shouts of agreement by her council roared behind her. 

“You know what Nia,” Clarke said, enjoying the sour twist to her face at the informality, “you may not fear me, but your people still know that it was not you who rescued the children of the grounder clans from the mountain, that was Lexa, that was her strength.” Clarke continued stepping closer to the table, from the corner of her eye she could see that Ontari had risen now, and was following parallel to her. “She knew when to take the deal, even when it broke her heart, because it was the right thing for her people. Can you say the same?”

“Enough!” Queen Nia said, slamming her hands down on the table. Her cool facade dropping, fury lining her face as she grasped the locket that hung at her chest. “I offered you your people’s safety Wanheda, I thought you cared enough to save them, but now you will die by the true Natblida’s hands, and the first clan my army will destroy on their way to Polis will by Skaikru!”

“You think you can take my power?” Clarke shouted, her hands outstretched as she took a few more steps toward the head table. A scrape of a chair against the stone floor told her that Bellamy had begun to stand up. She looked back over her shoulder, meeting his scared face and shaking her head sharply no. She turned back to the Queen. “By all means, please take this burden from me.” She raised her hands higher in supplication, knowing Ontari now flanked her side, only a few feet away, two deadly looking knives grasped in her hands. 

“My Queen,” Roan said, rising from his chair next to her. Nia remained staring straight ahead at Clarke. “Please, give me the honor of dispatching Wanheda, for you, for our people.” He grasped his mother’s arm pulling her toward him slightly. Ontari had stopped her slow pacing toward Clarke, and looked curiously at the Queen and her son. 

“You bastard!” Raven yelled from the table, Murphy holding her back, her face pale against the angry lines of stitched skin near the crown of her head. 

“Don’t be ridiculous Roan,” Nia snapped, shaking his arm off of hers, “Ontari will kill Wanheda and take her power, we shall be victorious in Polis, and she will become the next true Commander.”

“Commander’s die young mother,” Roan said, his voice quiet but clear to the surrounding watchers. “Wouldn’t you rather the weight of the Wanheda name go to your line, instead of yet another nightblood that will be only a memory in the flame?” Nia looked up at her son, her face furrowed in confusion at first, then smoothing as something like an understanding seemed to pass between them. She turned back to the crowd. 

Nia narrowed her eyes, “Ontari,” she said, and Clarke finally looked toward the young woman, her eyes slightly unfocused, mouth slack. She was pale, too pale Clarke thought idly, wondering if it was the alcohol, or simply the madness locked within. “Step aside.”

A ripple went through the crowd, and Clarke saw Roan walk around the table, his hand pulling the sword from his belt. 

“No! Clarke No!” Bellamy screamed, he was up and moving, Octavia by his side. Clarke turned to stay him but Azgeda soldiers blocked them from her view, long swords placed at their necks, hands wrenching them to their knees. There were tears streaming down Harper’s face, as the guards moved in to keep them in their seats. More stood by the doors and Clarke wondered if she was imagining hearing Echo’s yells behind them. How many Azgedans stood between her family and their freedom? Would this be enough to stop them?

Clarke looked away from her friends, from Bellamy’s panicked face, willing herself to be strong. Roan was getting closer and she almost smiled at him, knowing it would at least be over soon. But it was the movement at her right, that captured her attention. Ontari was still slowly moving toward her, her head was turned to Queen Nia, as though the order to let Roan kill Clarke confused her. Her body still acting on the oder her mind could not process.

“Ontari. Halt. Now. That’s an order,” Nia commanded, her arm outstretched, toward the natblida. Roan had paused, dread filling his face. Usually Ontari jumped to please her Queen. But now, she stood still, as though the order to step aside for the Prince was said in a language she didn’t know. 

“No.” Ontari said, but her voice raised at the end, as though she was confused by her own answer. 

The room held its breath. Nia’s face contorted into fury. “Ontari!” Nia screamed, pounding her fist on the table. 

Somewhere in the back of her mind Clarke understood that Roan was too far away, that he wouldn’t be able to stop it. Ontari raised her hand, the long knife glinting in the candlelit hall, and threw it. Clarke braced herself for the pain, squeezing her eyes shut. But the pain never came. Because Ontari didn’t throw it at her. 

She’d thrown her knife straight through Nia’s heart, the Ice Queen’s locket the only sound echoing in the hall as it dropped to the stone floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? How will Clarke get the 100 out of Azgeda now?


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Queen is dead. Who's next?

There was silence. There was monstrous noise. There was her heart, still beating. Oh, that was the sound. Thump. Thump. Thump. I’m still alive. Alive. Alive. Alive. 

She should be doing something. Running? Impossible. She was one of Azgeda’s icicles now. 

She couldn’t look away from Nia. Her face set in disbelief. Her hand still outstretched to give the last order that was answered with a knife to the heart. The floor beneath her splattered with blood. 

Clarke took a breath. Impressive for a frozen statue. She looked toward Roan. 

He had been standing next to his mother. He had stepped forward to shield his Queen, even though the night had meant to end with her death anyway. But not like this. Not by Ontari’s hand. Not without understanding. Roan was crouched over her, his arms reaching to cradle her head. A new orphan. The prince trembled. 

He looked up at Clarke right before he was thrown to the ground by Azgeda guards. Slamming him down to the floor to lay his face in the blood that was dripping down a dress of the same color. 

Clarke’s world sped back up. She had to breathe. She had to be Wanheda. She had to save them still. She had asked Bellamy to trust her.  
Nia’s night was done. Clarke’s had just begun. There was no more silence. 

“Clarke,” Bellamy’s voice finally reached her. Rising above the clamoring voices of their friends. She turned to find him again. Like Roan, all of Skaikru had been wrenched to the ground as soon as Ontari had let the dagger fly. Their screams of rage the only sounds echoing around the hall. Azgeda stood witness to the proceedings silently. Jasper alone looked unsurprised. He lay limply on the ground, defeated, unfocused. 

Clarke found Bellamy’s face, straining up at her from the floor. His eyes were wild and panicked. A guard’s hands twisting his behind his back, digging his heels into Bellamy's neck as the cords and muscles resisted to no avail. They were hurting them. The realization snapped her back to herself as an onslaught of anger hit her. 

Why was everyone silent? Why were the guards not rushing to take down Ontari? Hadn’t she just killed their beloved Queen? The nightblood was weaving her way around the hall now, her movements sluggish, as she picked up Nia’s locket from the floor. 

Something rang hollow in the back of Clarke’s mind as she watched the woman. But it was eclipsed by the tick in her muscles. She realized she had been tensed, waiting for someone to knock her to the floor as well. Why did Clarke still stand? 

She didn’t have to wait long for the answer. She heard the click of the great doors leading to the hall break open, and steps rang out behind the standing nobility and council members. There were so many of them. 

As the Azgeda nobility parted to make way for the person heading into the hall, Clarke could feel her stomach drop the way it had when she’d leapt off the dam with Anya. She should have known. If she was him, she’d have come for her too.

Emerson emerged into the hall, and Clarke suddenly saw all the pieces fit into place. 

She remembered looking into his eyes back at Arkadia when they realized the Mountain Men were already draining the delinquents. The defiance in them. He was not sorry for what he had done. He was not ashamed of the relentless effort to live outside of those stone walls. The grounder’s pain, Clarke’s people’s pain was just a footnote in the Mountain's future history. His eyes told a different story now. Now he was an avenger. Clarke was the villain in Emerson's story. 

“Clarke,” Emerson said, walking over to where she stood in the middle of the hall. “It’s been too long.” He was dressed in a strange mix of the old guard uniforms of the mountain, and Azgeda furs. A green cloak thrown back from his head, sweeping the floor. 

“Has it?” Clarke asked, finding a steadiness in her dry throat. She glanced again at Onatri. 

“I’ve traveled a lot since we saw each other last,” Emerson, stepping in close to Clarke until they were only a few feet from each other. “I’ve heard a lot about you in that time. Clarke Griffin of the Sky People. Killer of my children. Or is it Wanheda now?” Emerson smiled, and it sent a shiver up her back.

“I’m whoever my people need me to be,” Clarke said simply. “But you have no people now, unless you claim Azgeda as your clan?” 

“I had to find a people with similar interests,” Emerson said, “seeing as you saw fit to murder all of mine.”

“How symbolic,” Clarke said softly, tearing her eyes away from Emerson for a moment to watch Ontari walk over to the large fireplace. “Have you been here long? Or just long enough to manipulate Ontari?”

Emerson’s lips curled into a sneer. “Ontari was being manipulated by her Queen, not by me. You knew that too Clarke, yet you were willing to sacrifice her as well. What a hypocrite you are.” Emerson looked up to the nobility in the balcony. “A few well placed radios in the study helped Ontari and the Azgeda council see the light so to speak. After she brought news that the Queen was going to destroy the flame to put her dead daughter in charge, the rest of Azgeda’s wise counselors saw reason to let go of such loyalty to a weak Queen."

“So, you have yourself a tidy coup, what happens next” Clarke asked, letting her voice shake, keeping Emerson’s attention on her. 

“Oh, you mean what happens to you next?” Emerson asked, hands clasped behind his back, facing Clarke as Ontari threw the chip that was Nia’s daughter and Roan’s sister into the flames. Roan’s groan from the floor echoing in the hall. “What do you think Wanheda? What should happen to the person responsible for a genocide? For the deaths of my two little boys?”

Clarke’s heart thudded in her chest, she thought she could hear the bounce of a soccer ball, her nose filled with the stench of rotting, irradiated bodies, some of them so small. “Trust me Emerson, I’m paying for my crimes. Are you angry that I made you pay for yours?”

“I think I can come up with a few more ways for you to suffer,” Emerson spat. “My family died around a dinner table, how about I give you the same courtesy before the Azgeda army rolls over the rest of your people.” 

Clarke narrowed her eyes, Emerson wanted her scared. Well. Fuck him. She knew her guilt like the back of her hand. But Emerson wasn’t who she wanted to say sorry to. He knew what he was doing every day as he drained the children of the ground. Her guilt wasn’t for him, it was for Maya, and her father, and Jasper, and the littles ones that knew nothing of the horrors their parents were complicit in. 

But talking to Emerson wasn’t going to get her anywhere. So she turned away from him, ignoring the fury that crossed his face as she ignored his bait. 

“Ontari,” she called out to the nightblood. The woman was still staring at the flames as the fire ate the little bits of plastic. 

“Wanheda,” Ontari replied softly, leaning her hands against the mantle. 

“Is this what you want?” Clarke asked, watching the shaky breaths rattle through her slim body. “What has he promised you?”

Ontari turned slowly around, her dark hair slick with sweat, eyes large and glassy. “You,” she said, her voice slurring a little. “He promised me you. I’ll be the Commander of Death, and the Commander of everything else.”

“He’s only saying that so you’ll do what he says. He’ll use you just like Nia did,” Clarke called out, willing her voice to reach past the madness.

“No, not like Nia,” Ontari said, striding forward angrily toward Clarke, the knife that hadn’t buried itself in the Queen’s chest still in her hand. “She would have made me a puppet to her daughter, she would have destroyed the commanders!”

“That’s right, Ontari,” Emerson said, his voice sweet, like he spoke to a child. He’d picked up few notes listening in on Nia.“But together we can destroy our enemies. Your people are willing to follow you. Kill Wanheda, and they will lead their armies forward.”

“Ontari,” Clarke said, softly, calling her attention back from Emerson. “Why do you think Nia picked you? A nightblood deemed unstable by the flamkepas, too weak-minded to even participate in her conclave. Do you really think you can take on the flame, do you really think Lexa kom Trikru will give her knowledge to an usurper Commander?”

Clarke had expected rage from Ontari, but instead the girl’s face seemed to crumple into tears, her voice hiccuping and struggling with each breath. “I will have the flame!” She yelled, advancing on Clarke, “I will kill everyone that stands in my way. Including you!”

“You will fail,” Clarke said, stepping forward now until only a few feet remained between them. “Look at them watch you,” she whispered now, just to Ontari. “They’re waiting for you to kill me. Why haven’t you? Are you scared of the Commander of Death?” Ontari’s lips curled into a snarl, her whole body was trembling. Clarke took one more step forward, they were close enough that Ontari could plunge the knife into Clarke with just a swing of her arm. 

“Ontari kom Azgeda,” Clarke called out, letting her voice carry to those that watched. “Wanheda deems you unworthy to lead Ice Nation. Unworthy of the flame. Your fight is over.” 

She heard Bellamy cry out, as Ontari swung her arm up in rage, but Clarke didn’t move. It wasn’t the strength of will that kept fear at bay. It was a solid 10 years of helping Abby Griffin in the med bay, and watching time and time again people succumbing to the end of life treatments that the Ark Code demanded. 

While the tip of the knife didn’t hit her, a spray of black blood did as Ontari began coughing, choking on the poison that had been destroying her body since she'd taken the first unsuspecting sip from Jasper's flask. 

Ontari dropped, seizing on the floor. This time the screams and yells that filled Clarke’s ears were from Azgeda and Emerson, as their Nightblood convulsed, heaving and sputtering until she stilled. Dead as the Queen minutes before. 

Clarke stared down at the prone form, black blood foaming around her mouth, her eyes blank. The relief she wished she could feel was only a muted resignation. One more for Wanheda. 

“No!” Emerson screamed, rushing forward to lift the dead nightblood off the floor. He shook her roughly, her head snapping back, there was nothing left to revive. He looked up at Clarke, “you will pay,” he said from below her, “you have to pay!” he said again, his voice shaking with rage.

“I’m done paying for your sins," she said coldly. 

Something close to madness crossed his features then, he raised his hand toward where Bellamy and her friends stared slack jawed at the scene in front of them, no longer fighting the restraints. “Kill the Skaikru! End them now!” He yelled to the guards and nobility. 

Nothing happened. 

Clarke scanned the Azgeda guards that surrounded her. Their grasps still tight on her people. But now they stared at her in awe, and fear. What had simply been a story, now stood before them as fact. They had forsaken their Queen in preference to the Nightblood. And now their most powerful weapon, Ontari, was dead.

Clarke hadn’t even needed to hold a weapon in her hand. She was the scythe striking down, choosing who lived and who died. Did they want to be next? This is where she would find out. 

“Release your King.” She said softly. “Release my people.” The guards that held Roan backed away quickly, and Roan stood slowly, one side of his face slick with his mother’s blood. He turned away from the scene and walked purposefully toward Clarke. She could hear her friends creaking back against chairs, shoving away swords and knives that had been held against throats. 

Clarke looked down at Emerson, still absently holding Ontari’s head. His eyes flicking around him, seeing the guards shift uneasily. Seeing who they would look to. Their King? The stranger that Ontari followed? Or the Wanheda? 

Emerson met her gaze. He knew the answer. She saw emptiness in his eyes. She saw her own darkness staring back at her. But he had no one. And she was no longer alone. So when Bellamy’s knife settled into Emerson’s throat Clarke didn't even watch as Emerson clutched at the wound, drowning on the blood and marrow he'd stolen until he keeled over Ontari. 

Instead, Clarke looked over at Bellamy. He had thrown the knife from a crouch near the guard that had held him down. The relief splashed over his face like a wave, his shaky smile bringing her own to her face. She willed him to hold on. What came next would not be easy. But it was necessary. Clarke heard Roan’s heavy footsteps come closer to her. 

“Wanheda?” Roan’s voice rang hollowly behind her. She turned away from Bellamy and watched the rafters, filled to the brim. Watching her. Not looking toward the last royalty they had left. Such power she could wield. What could she do with an Azgeda army at her command? How many levers could she pull then? Her throat went dry at the thought. 

Finally she turned back fully to Roan as he stepped close to her, bringing his arms up to embrace her. Honoring the winner. Because there could only be one ruler in this kingdom. She held her hands up to hug him back and he brought her in tightly. 

Roan smelled of snow, and dirt, and the evergreens that swayed in the distance. “Thank you Wanheda” she whispered into his ears, her own arms wrapped around the broad shoulders, her face against the cheek clean of Nia's blood.

“May we meet again Clarke,” Roan whispered back to her as he slipped the cold steel of his knife into her stomach.

Bellamy’s anguished scream filled her mind as the darkness welcomed her into the fold, and the world lifted off of her shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy. Hold on kids. More to come.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy. Almost there kids.

Bellamy remembered a lot of things about Clarke. He remembered the look on her face when she warned him not to open the dropship doors, how annoyed he’d been that he couldn’t escape the long arm of the ark. He remembered the way she’d looked running to him after escaping Mount Weather. He remembered her telling him she loved him, barely an hour ago.

But now, now this would be the last thing he remembered about his Princess. She was in his arms, but she was dying. Her skin so pale against the black velvet dress, the stars on the skirt still twinkling in the candlelit hall. Her blood streaming on the floor beneath them, mixing with the blonde tendrils of hair that fanned out across the stone.

He didn’t even go after Roan. The Prince left the dagger in her stomach as he lowered her to the ground. Bellamy had run to her, willing it to be just a trick of the light. They had been so close to it all working out in their favor. The Queen Dead. Ontari Dead. Roan as King. Emerson winding up dead a random bonus. Clarke adding her name to the count wasn’t supposed to happen. This couldn’t be real. 

He was cradling her head in his hands. Asking her to forgive him for trusting Roan. Asking her to live. She had stared at him for a few moments, those blue eyes locked onto his, tears rolling down her rapidly paling cheeks. Until those were taken from him as well, closing as he pressed a hand over the wound in her stomach, his thumb against the fluttering pulse in her neck.

A part of him understood that Roan was bellowing out orders, claiming his rule, telling the guard to hold Skaikru back. He felt the low, slow burn of hatred heavy in his arms. He tasted metal. He felt the frantic administrations of his family surrounding him as he held Clarke, Octavia’s pained yell as Lincoln held her back from slicing the guards that moved toward them.

Harper was trying to get him to lay her flat, trying to press cloths to the wound, asking him to start compressions but he just shook his head numbly. He could see clearly what they couldn’t. This much blood, you didn’t come back from this. 

Then Roan was kneeling in front of him, laying a hand on his shoulder. And he screamed at him. But lunging at Roan would mean letting go of Clarke, so he stayed where he was, looking at the man that had betrayed them. 

“Bellamy, take her and go,” Roan said, grasping him behind the neck and pulling him toward him after Bellamy’s scream died from his throat. “Go and leave the castle, Echo will find you. She has the Rover in the courtyard.” 

“She trusted you,” Bellamy said hoarsely, his fingers slick with her blood, the pulse fading at every beat.

Roan’s haggard face fell. What right did he have to be sad? “There was no other choice,” Roan said, dropping Bellamy's neck and stepping back to look up at the crowd. “The Queen is dead. The Nightblood is dead. The treasonous snake in your midst is dead. Wanheda is dead by my hand, and I claim her power. I am your King and I am the Commander of Death. Does anyone judge against me?”

Silence fell once again. It was only then that Bellamy turned away from Clarke’s last breaths to search the room. Octavia's hand was a claw on his shoulder as the nobility, the counselors, the musicians, the servants and the guards all lowered to their knees in deference to Roan. 

Gone was the joking and cavalier man that had escorted them to this frozen hell. Before him was a King. If Bellamy had any chance, he would not be King long. Once more, Roan stepped back to Bellamy, ignoring the furious yells from his friends. “She saved you, Bellamy,” Roan whispered. Bellamy stared up at the silvery eyes, Roan’s mouth flickered up, “don’t let her down now.”

Bellamy’s brain was moving too slowly, but luckily for all of them, Raven’s never did. She was whispering frantically in his ear, “pick her up Bellamy, now, now, we need to go.”

And then he was moving, lifting Clarke into his arms, her head bending back in a way so familiar to the dead nightblood on the floor that he almost choked on the despair. They moved as one as they left the great hall and the roar of the Azgeda coalition behind them, welcoming and anointing their new King.

They each took a part of her body, keeping it flat and straight. Why was the knife still in her gut? He almost moved his hands from her neck but Lincoln shoved them away. Bellamy looked up at him, the question lost on his lips.

“Stay quiet Bellamy, leave all as it is,” he said as they moved as one across the deserted castle, drops of blood trailing on the stone behind them. The roar of a blizzard was raging outside. Or was that in his head?

They were almost to the courtyard doors when they opened, and Echo stepped through. They slowed to take her in. The tall spy was a mass of bloody bruises and cuts, her hands soaked in blood up to the elbows. Blood that wasn't hers. The cat-like brown eyes widened as she took in Skaikru holding Clarke’s limp body between them. Her glance shifted to take in the noises coming from the hall.

“Roan is King then?” She asked. 

“Fuck you,” Octavia growled beside him, the end of the threat breaking as he heard the tears well in his sister’s throat. 

Echo sighed, stepping back to hold the doors open for them. “The Rover is in the stables, from the looks of her we don’t have much time.”

Bellamy was trying to keep up, but he kept panicking every time he looked down at Clarke, at the flickering and stuttering heart beats in her throat. 

“Can you save her?” He asked, his voice cracking. He didn’t even have it in him to hate Echo for whatever part she had played in this. 

“We’ll need to move quickly. Scotty is waiting for you but we’ll need the Rover to get to him in time.” Echo motioned to the door, “Now!” She said harshly, the cool exterior breaking. 

Bellamy didn’t need to be told twice. If following Echo’s orders saved Clarke he’d do whatever she asked. 

He barely noticed Jasper stumbling after them, taking off his jacket even as they entered the frigid air toward the stables. The boy laid it over Clarke’s shoulders, mumbling something about shock. Bellamy ignored him. No one spoke as they got close to the rover, dead guards surrounding it. Patches he didn’t recognize on their Azgeda furs. 

Murphy hauled Raven into the driver’s seat. He had been half carrying her alongside them. She started up the Rover as they lifted Clarke onto the back floor, shoving blankets underneath her and climbing in. Echo moved into the passenger seat, looking supremely uncomfortable. 

“The gate is open, go out and to your left, I’ll tell you where to look for the turn,” Echo said, peering back at the group hunched over Clarke’s body. It was a tight fit for all of them. 

And then they were off. Bellamy didn’t know how Raven could even see in the white-out in front of them but Echo was whispering softly to her guiding the wheel as he could feel the Rover slipping and rumbling over the snow banks. 

Harper grabbed the flashlights and handed them to Octavia and Lincoln to hold over Clarke’s body so she could take a look at the wound. 

“Miller, I think there’s something on the blade” Harper said nervously, peering closely at the knife hilt as Bellamy’s stomach rolled. 

“Yeah, there’s definitely a paste, but at least it’s not her guts.” Miller said, motioning for Octavia to angle the light, “Bellamy, how’s her pulse?”

Bellamy readjusted his thumb on Clarke’s neck, his hands felt numb and it took him a few agonizing moments to find it. It wasn’t strong, but it wasn’t gone. He didn’t trust his voice so he simply nodded and kept his hands where they were.

Harper grabbed some rags and placed them around the hilt of the knife, staunching the blood flow for now. There was nothing left to do but keep her as still as possible as the Rover tumbled and jolted across the uneven landscape. If you had asked Bellamy how much time had passed he would have told you a hundred years. 

They sat in shocked silence. The wind though. It howled. It was the only thing that felt right. It was the only thing that could match the rage inside him right now. 

“Slow down Raven, do you see the gap in the trees? Take it, go slowly, the path is narrow and meant for horses, not your machines,” Echo said from the front, her bloody arm dripping as she pointed the way.

“Where are we going?” Bellamy said, his voice sounding strange to him. 

“Roan’s healer,” she said, “If he did is right, Scotty can save Clarke.”

“What the fuck does that mean, if Roan did it right?” Murphy said Clarke’s hand grasped in his. The boy’s greasy hair falling into his eyes. 

Echo looked back at him impassively as Raven hit the brakes. They had entered underneath the shelter of a large copse of evergreens, halting the white out and giving them a view of a ramshackle stone thatched cottage encircled by torchlight. A tiny, wiry frame stood in the doorway. A man, older than anyone Bellamy had ever seen. A halo of gray hair drifted around his head, the folds of leathery skin almost hiding small bright eyes. He was so wrapped up in furs for a moment Bellamy thought that an owl stood before him. But then he moved. And he moved fast. 

The Rover’s back doors opened up before Bellamy realized the man, presumably, Scotty, had left the doorway. 

He didn’t speak. Just motioned at them to bring Clarke out and they followed behind as they brought her across the doorway and into a warm room, a low bed shoved in the corner near a fireplace that took up a whole wall. 

They laid her on the blankets. It dimly registered to Bellamy that there were little flowers printed on the sheets. Then he realized he’d lost her pulse. He turned frantically to the small man.

“Do something!” he demanded, towering over him, “we’re losing her!” 

Scotty peered at him, tiny eyes searching Bellamy. Then he moved swiftly to the bed, shoving Bellamy out of the way with a strength that seemed impossible for him to possess. He took out from the folds of his furs a vial of brown liquid, and before Bellamy could react he had pulled Clarke’s lips open and tipped it back into her throat.

Bellamy almost reached for him, ready to throw him off of her, ready to kill anything that sought to harm her more. But Echo’s vice-like hand grasped his arm. “Give him time Bellamy, please,” she said. It took more restraint than he knew he possessed to hold back. 

The concoction seemed to have done nothing, but then Scotty moved down to her abdomen where the hilt of the knife sat. For a moment Bellamy wondered if this was the trick if perhaps there was no dagger at the end. But the slow, awful slide of the hilt revealed it was not so. It was at least 6 inches long, and as soon as he did the blood seemed to drain out of her, obscuring those little pink flowers. 

Bellamy groaned, dizzy at the sight, dropping to his knees, covering his eyes with his hands, realizing too late they were covered in her blood. He couldn’t watch. He couldn't not. 

Scotty now had a needle and thread and was pouring a liquid in the wound and digging in nauseatingly deep to stitch, pour in more liquid, stitch, again and again until he was sewing up the skin on her stomach. The black dress full of stars still encasing her. 

He placed two fingers at her neck, and Bellamy felt his heart lurch as he nodded in satisfaction. Bellamy moved over to check, and felt the tears stream down his face as a pulse, a strong one, beat beneath them once again. 

Scotty clasped his hands together. Suddenly there was a chair next to her bed. Suddenly Monty was pressing him into it, and Octavia was wrapping his hands around a mug of some warm liquid. He had so many questions. So many things that felt like they might be important to know soon. But not now. Now, they all found little spots to sit in the tiny cabin as Echo slipped out the door. The dwarfs waiting for snow white to wake up from a poisoned apple bite as the dark hours stretched on. 

Scotty seemed to materialize out of the walls every now and then. Checking Clarke’s wound, slipping more of the concoction down her throat. The strangling tightness in Bellamy’s chest easing the more Clarke’s breaths deepened, and color rising in her cheeks, still deathly pale, but not the chalky gray-white of a corpse. As the sky began to lighten she looked more like she was sleeping peacefully and Bellamy twined her fingers in his, trying to warm her cold hands, now sticky with dried blood. 

Scotty took care of them all. He shuffled over to Raven with a canister of salve, gesturing to the cut on her head. Murphy took it from him and gently tapped it on for her, the girl's eyes sliding closed at the light touches. He handed Jasper a mug of something steaming but the boy just hung his head between his knees. Monty took it instead. 

Echo slipped back inside as the sun rose in the distance. The crack of the door startling Bellamy, the back of his head smacking into the wall. He quickly looked at Clarke. She hadn’t woken, but he could see her eyes moving beneath the bruised lids. 

But now that sleep had distanced them from everything they had seen, understanding what had happened came next.

Echo brought the stench of wood and fire and something acrid that Bellamy immediately associated with the dropship. 

“Where have you been?” he asked, his throat felt raw.

In the orange light the injuries to her face stood out, but her brown eyes were just as clear and calm as ever. “Burning Clarke’s body,” she said as she slid off her boots and lowered herself into a wide chair, accepting a cup from Scotty. Bellamy could have sworn the old man hadn’t been there a moment ago. 

“What’s happening?” Raven asked drowsily as she lifted her head up from Murphy’s lap. 

Echo sighed, “We needed to keep the appearance of Clarke’s death going,” she took a sip from the cup, her eyes closing in relief. “The woman was already dead if that was your concern.”

“My concern?” Bellamy said bewildered, “what the fuck happened last night Echo?”

Echo rolled her neck around, “exactly what needed to happen to keep you all alive and Azgeda and Skaikru out of a pointless war.”

“Echo,” Raven said, sitting up now, the circles under her eyes dark. “Just tell us what you know, why did this need to end with Clarke almost dying?”

Echo’s eyes narrowed, she set the cup down on the little table and stood up. Bellamy looked around but Scotty had once again dematerialized. 

“How about you explain how Ontari ended up with that poison in her system instead?” Echo asked. “That wasn’t Roan’s doing, and he’s interested to know how it came to be,” she moved around the room, stopping in front of Jasper. “Any clue? Not that we’re not grateful, of course.”

All eyes turned toward the boy that looked like he was going to try Scotty’s disappearing trick. Jasper was just as disheveled and tired as the rest of them, but something seemed to stiffen behind him. His eyes weren’t as hollow as before. He took a deep breath, and peered up at the tall spy, reaching into his coat pocket, and pulling out the flask, handing it to her.

Echo twisted open the cap and sniffed the empty container. She snorted and threw it into the fireplace. “How?” Monty said from the corner, looking from Jasper to the fire. 

“You knew,” Harper said, horror filling her face as she stared at Jasper, “you knew about Emerson didn’t you?”

“I-” Jasper began, but faltered, “I didn’t know-”

“What?” Monty said standing up now, “what lies are you going to spew now?”

Jasper looked like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin, but he took a deep breath, and let the truth pour out. “He said I would be a hero, he said you wouldn’t get hurt, just Clarke, just Clarke had to die for what happened to Maya and he gave me the vial to give to you and he said it would just make it so you wouldn’t fight back but I tasted it and I knew he lied and I couldn’t, I couldn’t-and I put it in the flask so I could drink it later once I knew you were okay but then Ontari wanted it and I didn’t say no, I didn't stop her.” Jasper’s eyes were wild and he clapped his hands over his own mouth. The air in the room seemed to crackle. And then it exploded. 

Bellamy was across the room in a moment, his hands wrapped around Jasper’s neck, slamming him back into the wall again and again. The little trinkets and decorations falling as Echo serenely stepped out of the way to watch the scene unfold as Monty and Miller leaped forward to break them up and Murphy jumped into the fray landing his own punches to Jasper’s face. Octavia and Lincoln were holding back, swords in hand, and Harper was getting ready to shoot her gun at the ceiling when a soft voice from the corner cut through it all.

“Bellamy. Let him go,” Clarke said, half sitting up on her elbow in the bed. The scene in front of her froze as they all whipped their heads around to look at her. Far from a kiss to wake the sleeping Princess, Clarke woke up just in time to save Jasper from being strangled to death in Bellamy’s hands. 

Clarke took in a ragged breath, opened her mouth to say more, and promptly threw up all over the floor. 

“You know, I'm going to miss this,” Echo said from the doorway, sipping her tea as she opened the door, letting the warm air dash out, as King Roan stepped in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for following along so far! One more chapter to go.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the final chapter! 
> 
> Thank you so much for all the likes and comments. I've had a lot of fun playing in this world, and with these characters, so hopefully you all have had fun reading it as well.

Bellamy had released Jasper’s neck, the boy slumping down against the wall, leaning his forehead fall to the floor. He crossed the room to Clarke in two strides, side-stepping the sick on the floor and helping her sit back as Scotty apparently walked through the wall and handed a cup to her. 

He held her face in his hands, his eyes scanning her frantically. She nodded minutely, leaning into the palms, reassuring him that she wasn’t going to keel over at that very moment. 

“Is she okay?” He asked Scotty. The old man remained silent, but stared at Clarke critically, motioning for her to lay flat so he could inspect the wound in her abdomen. Apparently assured all was as well as could be he tipped another vial of the brown liquid into her cup, raising his bushy gray eyebrows to indicate that she should drink up. 

Clarke took a tentative sip and immediately grimaced, looking up at Bellamy questioningly. 

“He’s already poured about four of those down your throat, I’d just go with it since you’re, you know, alive and all,” he said, sitting down on the chair heavily, the adrenaline feeling leaden in his limbs. He suddenly noticed that the skin on his knuckles was scraped off. He must have run them on the wall as he’d rammed Jasper’s head into it. 

“How are you feeling Clarke?” Roan’s voice bounced around the room, and Bellamy lifted his head up, his eyes narrowing. He’d almost forgotten Clarke’s would-be killer was in the room in his haste to bash Jasper’s brains out. Almost. 

“You mean, how are you feeling after you gutted her?” He said, the sarcasm dripping from him. Is this what Murphy felt like all the time? He could feel the anger threading underneath his skin. It quickened as he looked back and forth between Clarke and Roan. 

“Roan,” Clarke began, her voice sounding as raw as Bellamy’s own. She took another sip of the putrid liquid, controlling her features more this time so as not to offend Scotty, but then again, the man had disappeared once more. She seemed to gain hold of herself, but shrunk a little into the bed with so many pairs of eyes on her. “Can you fill in the blanks?” she finished softly. 

Roan crossed his arms, the broad man looking even larger in the tiny cabin so filled with people. “The councillors have agreed Clarke. Riders have been sent out to recall the armies North, the tale of Wanheda’s death by the Prince of Azgeda will spread quickly now.”

Clarke nodded minutely in apparent relief, groaning as she took another drink. There was no accusation. No anger from Clarke that she had come so close, literally a knife’s edge from death. Her eyes cut to him, and he saw the guilt that lined them. And a whisper in his mind about how the night had come to pass flew through him like knife that had sunk into her. 

Because just like Jasper had known about Emerson. Clarke had known how the night would end. She and Roan had planned this together. Clarke had lied to him. 

It was at that moment Bellamy learned about a new kind of anger. The kind that was not hot, but cold. The kind that made the phrase “like ice in your veins” ring true. It washed over him and he felt a hollow numbness hit him and for a moment he couldn’t breathe.

Bellamy grasped his knees, bruising the skin in an effort to tamp down the bile in the back of his throat. He watched her from the corner of his eye as she paused and looked around the room. 

All their friends were standing awkwardly. Monty had tears streaming down his face as he looked at Jasper, still huddled on the floor. Scotty peering over him, laying a thick pack of ice on the back of his neck. Roan settled a hand on Scotty’s shoulder, the old man smiling brilliantly up at him, the affection evident as he clasped his shriveled hands around Roan’s. 

Clarke turned back to Bellamy, and despite the devastation laying waste inside him he couldn’t help but meet her. Those blue eyes he thought he had lost forever just a few hours ago were filled with something he couldn’t quite place a finger on.

“Clarke, not that i’m not super excited you’re alive,” Raven said walking a few steps toward her, the cut on her forehead already healing, “but you’re going to need to do some explaining, and you need to do it now. We all spent the night thinking you were going to die. We all watched you die in that hall.” 

Clarke nodded slightly, and looked up at Roan, his head crowned with tall antlers, his face lined and weary. 

“It wasn’t like it was some grand plan I kept from you all this whole time,” she started, bringing the cup up to sip it, and making a face as it slipped down her throat.

“Lies. Lies. Lies.” whispered the voice in Bellamy’s head as he looked back down at his hands, still stained with her blood. 

“I didn’t know about Emerson until you told me Raven,” Clarke continued, “it scared the hell out of me though, the plan was already so fragile.” Raven cocked her head, she looked like she wanted to say something but decided against it. 

“Yesterday morning, I went to speak with Nia in her study to see if I could convince her that signing that peace treaty was the only way to keep Wanheda’s wrath from pointing to Azgeda.” Clarke rolled her eyes at the notion. “Instead, a much changed woman greeted me. Instead of rantings and ravings she calmly told me about her Nightblood daughter that was killed in Conclave. She told me she didn’t care about the religion of the flame, only the power it had to restore her daughter to her. She planned to use a chip that held her daughter’s memories and bind it with the flame so her child was in control of whoever it resided in. She wanted Ontari to kill me so the Coalition armies would give way more easily to the Nightblood Wanheda.”

“Nia fucked with us from the beginning,” Harper said in disbelief. 

Clarke nodded, “She’d been deceiving the commanders for decades, even Lexa. There was nothing a silly legend or supposed wisdom of commanders that would stop her from marching her army forward. She was simply using the idea of it, just like we were in coming here to manipulate a fanatic that was never a fanatic.” Clarke set her cup back in her lap, shifting uncomfortably. “I knew then that the peace signing was going to be a bloodbath, that Roan would have to kill Nia no matter what.”

“But Clarke, we always knew that was an option,” Murphy said exasperated, “how does Roan killing Nia turn into Roan stabbing you?”

“Because my people don’t remember me,” Roan spoke up, “because they knew only my Mother and the denied Nightblood for a decade. They’ve been told lie after lie after lie about Lexa and Polis. Even if I managed to kill Nia and Ontari at the ceremony, or if we could have taken Ontari off the board before it started like i’d hoped, there was no way to get you all out alive afterwards. No reason for the councillors to follow my wishes. We don’t pass down the crown by birthright here automatically. I needed to prove my right to lead Azgeda. Clarke could see it, and I agreed, that the only way to secure their loyalty, and peace, was to give me the power of Wanheda as well.”

“So did you mean to survive, or was that just a lucky break?” Bellamy hadn’t even known he was going to ask before the words were out of his mouth.

Clarke turned to look at him, “of course I meant to survive. Especially after,” she paused looking down, her cheeks flushing just slightly, “anyway, I realized that being Wanheda wasn’t the key. Not being Wanheda was. We’ve been trying to keep me alive but to save me, to save all of you, Wanheda had to die. I knew Roan could do it without killing me for real, but I also knew,” Clarke looked down to trace the tip of a blood stained finger on the rim of the cup, “I also knew if I told you what it was going to take, you wouldn’t let it happen.”

“The plan all went to hell when Ontari killed my mother of course,” Roan said tightly. “Before that, well, I hoped Raven and Murphy would have managed to get to her, but the guards were already loyal to Ontari, and I hadn't accounted for Emerson's meddling with her mind, pushing her to act against Nia. I wasn’t allowed out of my room after I left you that afternoon Clarke. I was lucky to get the poison I used on the knife for you. Scotty is nothing if not resourceful.”

“So in a way,” Clarke said gently, looking over at the heaving form on the floor, “Jasper saved us all.”

“You mean he betrayed us all. He let us go to Azgeda knowing Emerson was waiting for you, to kill you,” Monty said gravely.

Clarke looked down at the metal stars on her dress. The frantic push to save her last night had chipped away at the designs, she was full of falling stars now. “No,” she said firmly. “Jasper made a choice to save you. Just like I did.” Jasper looked up hesitantly and Clarke stared at him solemnly. “And however inadvertent, he made it look like the power of Wanheda was well and truly real when Ontari died in front of me. It was a gift. As Roan has said, there was no second-guessing by the council. You all walked out of there, you were given a window of time to save me, because Jasper gave a flask of poison meant for you, to Ontari.”

“Azgeda believes me to have the power of Wanheda now,” Roan said, “I am both King, and Commander of Death, and,” he paused until Clarke met his eyes, “I’ll be signing the peace accords today. There will be no challengers to Lexa’s rule, her uniting of the 13 clans holds. You’ve done your jobs Skaikru, and although the true story may never be told, I am grateful.”

“How nice for you,” Bellamy said bitterly.

“Bellamy,” Clarke said, reaching toward him, “this is a good thing, we succeeded, our friends are alive, I’m okay-”

“You died in front of me Clarke!” Bellamy sat up, knocking the chair over behind him. “I watched him stab you. I watched the blood drain out of you. I felt your heart stop. I thought you died! All because you couldn’t, what, trust me with the plan!” He was screaming now, he felt his vision blur and he took a few steps back. He couldn’t take the look in her eyes. It was too foreign. 

“I know you’re angry,” Clarke whispered, “I would be too, but,” she looked up at him, her eyes dry and clear, “we never get good choices. So to save you, and our friends, and to stop her army...Bellamy, I would do it again.” 

Something yanked in his heart, and Bellamy turned and walked out the door, slamming it open to escape into the cool and sharp air. He walked to the edge of the clearing, shaking his hands as they trembled, resisting the urge to throw up. The image her dead in that hall flashing behind his eyes every time he squeezed them shut. 

He looked up. There was a plume of smoke in the distance, Clarke’s would-be pyre he thought distractedly. A hawk’s screeching in the distance called to him and he watched it circle the trees above, riding the thermals up and down. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed out there, vacillating between grief and relief and betrayal and a thousand other emotions that seemed to ride through him the same way the hawk flew above. 

It was the soft crunch of snow beneath boots that made him turn on the fallen log he’d wandered over to. Octavia stood behind him, her sleek black hair falling over a borrowed fur on her shoulders. She was still in her green dress, dark brown stains from Clarke’s blood dotted it. 

“So,” she said, walking over to sit next to him.

“Not now Octavia,” he said wearily looking away again at the tree line. 

“Oh Bell,” Octavia said pulling the fur around her, “haven’t you learned? Now is all we have.”

The first edges of shame at his outburst crept up on him, and then anger rising at the thought that he should feel shame at all. All he’d asked of her was to stop acting like she was alone in it. To stop leaving him alone in it. Then she’d done exactly that. 

He peered at his brave sister, light purple bruising on her cheekbones from the Azgeda soldiers throwing them onto the floor. He shook his head slightly at her words. “So what, everyone we care about is alive for the moment, so what does it matter that Clarke lied to us? That Jasper betrayed us? That Roan almost killed Clarke? 

“Fuck that,” Octavia snorted coming over to sit on the fallen log beside him. “Right now, Jasper is in a hole so deep I don’t know if he needs a rope to climb out, or we need shovels to bury him. Everyone is both mad at Clarke for lying, but also a little in awe that she pulled it off. Roan is being Roan, but looks like he’s going to cry at any moment. I think he really loved his mom, despite it all,” she said with a bit of wonderment. 

“Is this your attempt at making me feel better because it’s not working,” he said, gathering a ball of snow in his hand and gently pressing it against her bruised cheek.

“It’s my attempt to put things in perspective,” she said humming at the cool relief of the snow. “Of course you’ve got a right to be angry. That was terrible of her to make you watch that, but,”

“But what Octavia?” He asked, finding himself wanting his little sister to have the answer. “She told me she loves me, then she goes and lies to my face about the plan and justifies it because she thinks I would have disagreed.” 

“Buck up buttercup,” Octavia said gently. “You know, i’m rarely a fan of Clarke’s choices, but it’s not always all about you Bellamy.”

He leaned back to look at her fully, his face flushing at the insinuation. Octavia raised an eyebrow at him. “It’s time you accept that Clarke Griffin is always going to sacrifice what she wants for the betterment of the group. Just because she’s in love with you doesn’t mean the building blocks of who she is are suddenly going to change.”

Bellamy let that sit for a beat. “She bore it so we wouldn’t have to,” he said softly. The sadness of the thought rushing at him.

“I mean, the most annoying thing is that she’s right,” Octavia said half laughing to herself. “You know she’s right. You would have stopped her from going through with it if she had told you. Maybe we all would have made it out of the castle, but Nia’s army would still have marched forward, straight to Arkadia and Trikru.”

“I told her I just wanted her, not Wanheda,” he said, his words from that night echoing back to him. “I didn’t expect her to take it so literally.” He sighed, feeling so weary he could just lean back in the snow bank and hibernate until Spring came north. 

The hawk’s distant call drifted to them “If you love her Bell, you’re going to have to love all of her,” Octavia said quietly. “Even the parts of her that scare you.” 

Bellamy let the hands that had been curled into fists relax, the rolling inside of him easing into something steadier. “When did you get so smart?”

“It’s called personal growth. And Lincoln basically spouts this sentimental crap in his sleep. Plus, Clarke saved our lives last night, and so far the biggest thanks she has gotten is a knife in the gut, you yelling at her, and some strange Wizard force feeding her the worst cocktail ever. So, I’m feeling generous to Clarke Griffin today.”

Bellamy groaned, rubbing his face with his hands. “I don’t like it when you’re logical.”

“Too bad, you made me hang out with the Princess, it was bound to rub off.”

“What do I do now?” He asked, staring back up at the sky. The hawk was gone. 

Octavia weaved a hand in his. “If you want, we can sit here for awhile longer.”

He squeezed her hand back, “okay.”

“Okay.”

***  
As it turns out, there’s a lot to do when a Wanheda dies.

Echo, Octavia, and Lincoln took the horses and rode at a breakneck speed back to Polis to deliver the news of Wanheda’s death, and the dealings in Azgeda that led to a new King on the throne, and a signed peace treaty.

Echo conferred with her Commander privately, and months later would tell Clarke that it was the first time she’d ever seen Lexa Kom Trikru laugh when she heard the full story of how Clarke had managed to take down not just the Azgeda Queen, but a rogue nightblood and the last Mountain Man. 

When the first Skaikru recruits arrived in Polis for training, as demanded by the Coalition agreement, they found themselves in a classroom instead of a sparring field. They were given ink and parchment instead of swords. Every so often Lexa would slip into a classroom to watch the children of Polis learn what they affectionately called “space-skills.” 

Monty, Harper, Raven, Murphy, and Miller went back to Arkadia as heroes. Skaikru had never put much stock in this laughable idea that there was a Commander of Death, let alone connect it to the Chancellor’s daughter. They only knew that peace talks had worked in their favor. When asked where the top guard cadet and wayward blonde were they were simply told that they were taking the long way round. They told Abby and Kane the full truth behind closed doors, as the older woman rocked back and forth in a small corner of her office. 

Jasper didn’t return to Arkadia. Nyko met them near the Trikru border and Jasper left with him. He kept a radio though, this time given by Monty. He turned it on every few days as he lived among the grounders, hoping that the static would be answered, as he worked to forgive himself, make amends, and be someone Maya would have recognized.

Bellamy stayed with Clarke at Scotty’s home for a few weeks as their friends scattered and she continued to heal. Answers and forgiveness came as slowly. It was like one of Clarke’s sketches. The rough outline was easy, it was the details that were harder to get right. 

Telling someone you love them is not a cure for what you’ve done to each other, even if it was for each other. So, they talked around it, finding their footing, easing back to being just Bellamy and Clarke.

They talked about Scotty. He was the healer from Roan’s childhood, the reason Roan had been banished. Asked as a teenager to prove his loyalty to his mother by killing his mentor and friend he had refused, and had been sent to Polis in shame. But time apart did not mean Roan unlearned what he had been taught. He knew where to cause pain, and what injuries could be survived. The poison he used on the knife made the wound to Clarke’s abdomen look fatal, quickening the blood flow, making her muscles lock up and slowing her heart to make death apparent. 

“I told you that when all this was over you should spend time in med bay, learn what ‘nothing important’ means,” she had teased him, then quickly stopped at the look that had passed over Bellamy’s face. He vowed to never let her have quiet conversations on horseback with Roan again. 

They spent the days at Scotty’s cabin watching the curious old man mix up medicines. Bellamy read all the precious books in the home, and out of boredom started to sew up the man’s threadbare sheets as he told Clarke roman and greek myths. Clarke wrote out the ingredients to the poisons and salves he used on her, and sketched the little home, and Bellamy’s face over and over. 

At first Clarke spent the nights alone in the little bed, Bellamy in a chair beside her, afraid of the anger that still laced around his chest, the fear that tightened it into a vice when he’d wake up and check to make sure she was still breathing. After a week of this Clarke took his hand and pulled him from the chair.

“You’re the only one in this room that’s angry Bellamy,” she said leading him to the bed. Something dislodged in him, and he took a deep breath, and let the knot unravel. Because Octavia was right, he loved the dangerous parts of Clarke too. 

From then on they curled around each other in the little bed, Bellamy’s hand placed on the wound in her stomach. He was still afraid to sleep, worried that her nightmares would wrench her awake and tear all of the carefully placed stitches. But Clarke slept on peacefully. 

He asked her about it after a week of uninterrupted nights. 

Clarke seemed surprised at the realization, and just shrugged and went back to her sketch. But a few hours later she came over to him, taking the book out of his hands and sitting next to him. 

“Bellamy, those dreams, of the mountain, of all the people we killed because we had to, or because we didn’t know how not to, they’ll never go away completely and they shouldn’t,” she said, her small hands curling into this.

Bellamy started to protest but she shook her head. “They’re part of me, like Wanheda will always be a part of me, but I realized, and this is your fault by the way,” she said teasingly, “that it can’t be the whole part. I leaned into the darkness after we got back from the Mountain. I let it swallow me up. I let it crush me, because I didn’t see the point in fighting it.”

“And now?” Bellamy asked tentatively, tucking a piece of her dirty blonde hair behind her ear. 

Clarke shrugged, “If you don’t fight the darkness you become Nia, blaming the world for your pain. You become Lexa, believing love is the weakness when it’s the opposite. Or you become Jasper, thinking that the world is hopeless, that we’re damned from the beginning.”

Bellamy watched her carefully, at her clear open eyes, and the laughter that danced behind them subtly, and realized what that look on her face was that he hadn’t recognized before. It was hope. 

“So it was my excellent kissing that made you see the light?” He said, flipping her ever so gently onto the bed, pressing her front along the length of his, a hand against her strong beating heart. Clarke laughed, and brushed his own hair out of his eyes. 

“Sure Bell, not your care, or your kindness, or the way you never stop trying to do a little bit better,” she tugged on a lock of it, “it was the kissing.” 

And he couldn’t help but capture her lips over and over until they were breathing hard and Clarke had a hitch in hers, and they had to stop or she was going to pull those damn stitches. 

A month after they arrived in Azgeda, Bellamy and Clarke finally put the castle to their backs. They took their time. Camping for days at scenic spots, making love in the warm sun as they shed layers the farther south they went. 

The didn’t go home to Arkadia at first. Instead they went to the drop ship where Abby met them, and mother and daughter hugged until their arms trembled. Followed by a full dressing down of the ridiculousness of letting strange men perform unknown procedures and experimentation on you drilled into their ears. Followed by more crying. Then more hugging. 

Bellamy and Clarke stayed at the dropship through the Spring, dying Clarke’s hair red, keeping to themselves, frequenting trading posts that few grounders cared to go to. No longer smoldering with Grounders, a thick layer of grass and wildflowers now grew. Clarke sketched pictures of planets and stars and spaceships on the metal husk, a strange smile on her face the whole time. When Bellamy asked she just shook her head and said that only dangerous solitary confinement criminals got to know the joke. Finally, as the heat of summer beat down Bellamy returned back to camp. A few weeks later, so did Clarke. 

He had been worried that returning would blow Clarke’s cover. But Clarke reminded him that she was very skilled at hiding in plain sight. And the arkers gave little weight to such children’s stories. Indra had made sure the surrounding Trikru clans swore they new only one Wanheda, the king in the north. As myths do the story got stretched and pulled until the idea that an 18 year old blonde girl could be the killer of hundreds seemed laughable. Who had brought down the mountain? The Commander in Polis of course. 

Clarke moved quietly among the camp. She shared meals with her friends. Worked shifts in Med Bay. Showed the children how to draw. She spent hot days at the stream with Raven and Harper, floating on her back and thinking about those they had wronged, asking forgiveness, and letting it be enough. 

When Clarke Griffin woke up in the mornings, it was to her favorite pair of brown eyes. 

When the dusty days of summer began to cool she and Bellamy sat curled up next to each other by a fire, passing Monty’s newest moonshine drink around. He smiled more, his arms always around Harper, his shoulders relaxed and not tensed and waiting for a sighting of Jasper. Every so often Clarke heard him say Jasper’s name when she passed the greenhouse, there was less anger each time as the radio’s static hummed through. 

Octavia and Lincoln were gone from the camp, for now. They had returned a month after Clarke, taking full advantage of the cancelled kill order as they meandered back from their responsibilities in Polis. Then, they left for the sea. Bellamy missed his sister like a limb, but he trusted her to come back. Clarke kept saying to have faith that Octavia would always need a world where she could still find her brother. 

No one wanted to know what the hell Raven and Murphy did. There was shouting from the mechanic’s shop. Lots of disturbing noises. Murphy looked much too pleased with himself. Miller did punch him in the face once, just on principle. Then Miller looked much too pleased leaving the med bay, needing to keep returning so Jackson could double check his hand. 

For a time, there was the complete braveness of peace. Clarke reveled in it. But she was also nervous, too long had they been in the midst of trouble, and she felt like she was always looking for it to start again. At least with Bellamy, the waiting was fun too.

So when the shouts from the gate came early in the morning on the first real days of fall Clarke awoke with a twinge of pain on her stomach. The scar she was left with was odd, instead of a jagged white line, it was inky night-blood black. Clarke didn’t like to think about it. Bellamy liked to trace his thumb on it at night. 

They sat up in bed, and with a quick look at each other hastily pulled on clothes disregarded from the night before, the faint hum of a moonshine hangover lingering in Clarke’s mind. Running out to the gate they met Miller at the front, the boy’s face set in a frown.

“Miller?” Bellamy asked, the front of the gate obscured with shouts and gasps. 

“He’s back,” Miller said.

“Who?” Clarke asked, a flash of Emerson slipping behind her eyes. 

“Jaha,” Miller said, tight lipped as the crowd cleared and Bellamy and Clarke turned to look at Abby directing a group of people with a wretched looking Thelonious Jaha on a stretcher to the med bay. “He just got back from the desert. He kept saying something about nuclear reactors, about a lady in a red dress, he’s totally smoked in the head.”

“Nuclear reactors,” Clarke said faintly as she watched her mother go by, shouting orders, Kane in the distance. 

“Lovely,” Bellamy muttered.

“Cool, well i’ll be back up in the tower, watching out for a chick in a red dress,” Miller said into the few seconds of space when Clarke and Bellamy just stared at each other, unspoken worries passing between them.

Clarke stepped forward as Miller walked away, taking Bellamy’s hand in hers. “Bellamy, I solemnly swear that if I find a need to fake die again, i’ll tell you first.”

Bellamy grinned, “that’s all I ask Princess.”

They walked back toward the med bay to discover what trouble brewed their way, ready to face it. Together. 

The End. For Now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't help myself...if the right sequel in this altered universe comes to me, I knew I wanted ol' Jaha back to stir up some trouble. 
> 
> I hope i've resolved all the plot points, there were a good many by the end, forgive me if I did not.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
